Happy Endings Are a Myth, Kind of Like Werewolves
by QueenMindi
Summary: Seven years after Breaking Dawn, Jacob Black gets dumped for a vampire...again; Lauren Mallory's life sucks...still; and Nez Cullen is about to find out what it's like to be a REAL bloodsucker...finally. Jacob/Lauren, Nez/Felix
1. 1: Jacob

Notes: I did NOT like Breaking Dawn, mostly because of Nessie. (She SCARES me.) I had hoped that Jake would imprint on a nice, normal human girl and stop phasing and live a nice, normal human life. And maybe throw Bella off a cliff, but that's beside the point. The point is, I created, well, THIS--this fic--so that the ghastly "happy ending" wasn't where it stopped. And I do mean stopped, because I hate the idea of poor, sweet, _human_ Jacob living forever looking exactly the same and watching his mortal friends die.

So. Here it is. My personal post-Breaking Dawn canon. Enjoy (or not--that's up to you).

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_1. Jacob_

I stare. The girl I've been in love with since she was born looks back at me, snapping her gum. She looks about eighteen now, but really she's going to turn seven in a month.

Her brown hair's been dyed black and cut boy-short with bangs flopping in her eyes. Her nose is pierced, her eyes and lips painted dramatically dark shades against her pale skin, and she wears these weird-lookin' clothes she claims to have bought at some place called Hot Topic. Personally I think she looks prettier without makeup, wearing the designer clothes Alice buys for her, but she refuses to even consider it.

Nez—she decided Nessie was "babyish" when she was four—is basically your average half-vampire teenager. Thinks she's a rebel and all that. It's incredibly annoying sometimes.

But I can't help loving her with all my mind, body, soul, and frickin' strength.

"Jacob?" she says, lifting one perfectly arched eyebrow as she continues to chew her gum.

I make a noise that sounds kind of like "Nnnguh?"

Any other guy in my shoes would hate the girl. As soon as she started dressing herself, she figured out I'd give her anything she wanted and, of course, used me shamelessly to her advantage. Terrible twos indeed. They were worse when the two-year-old in question had the body of a six-year-old and the mind of an eleven-year-old.

So really I'm kind of her personal slave. Not exactly flattering, I know. But thus far, I haven't complained for one reason: I knew that someday she'd grow up and be my wife. She'd love me like Bella never could. I was sure of it.

Boy, am I stupid.

Nez folds her arms. "Did you hear what I just said? I said we're over."

"H-how, um, how is that possible?" I manage to say, my voice cracking.

She smiles, that innocent-sweet baby smile that hasn't changed with her rapidly maturing body. "You're right. We never really were going out, were we? I mean, it was just one kiss that one time."

That _one kiss_ had made my entire life.

"I don't get it," I mumble. _Is this another phase?_ Nez goes through phases with alarming rapidity, but through all of them she adored me. She's cried on my shoulder, called me late at night when she wanted to talk—and, that one time, kissed me like there was no tomorrow.

"Jake, I'm serious," Nez says, snapping her gum again, which ruins the effect of the Serious Face she's making at me. "I know you thought I'd grow up and we'd get married and make a bunch of wolf-vamp-human hybrid babies, but it ain't gonna happen, okay? I don't love you that way. You're my like my big brother."

I watch my happy ending explode and rain sharp bits of metal and glass on my head.

"Nez, you know I'll support whatever you choose to do, but—is this about that human boy you went out with last week? Because you said that was a pity date!" I know, I sound jealous, right? It's because…hell yes I am! I wanted to pummel that stupid kid. "And anyway, you know you can't get seriously involved with a human. You're going to stop aging in a couple of months. And you eat animal blood."

Nez rolls her eyes. "Get real, Jacob. Like I would fall in love with some pathetic human. They're so boring. And they freak out when I show them mind-movies."

I'm kind of offended at her disdain for humans. After all, I once thought I was one.

"Then what—?"

"I'll tell you what," says Nez, narrowing her eyes, and she slaps her hand on my forehead.

I watch through Nez's eyes as Felix of the Volturi—_Felix_, of all people-like creatures!—emerges from the forest. She puts down the baby deer she's just finished eating and stands to meet him. Their hands intertwine and he leans down to _kiss _her.

I reel away from Nez's hand. "How long ago was that?" I growl.

"A week." Nez's eyes burn into mine (_ohgodIloveher_). "Sorry, Jake, but I knew you wouldn't understand unless I showed you. I met him a month ago while I was hunting. He was spying for the Volturi—you know, they still don't get that I'm not going to destroy the world or whatever—and I caught him. We've been meeting secretly, just talking…and then…you know it doesn't take long to decide, Jake, when you're a vampire. I'd pretty much fallen for him by the third meeting."

"But…we…_kissed_," I say. I feel like I'm going to hurl.

"Yeah, and it was nice, Jake, it _was_," says Nez, a little condescendingly. "But I just can't picture us _together_ in that way. Can't we still be friends? Or brother and sister, if you'd rather."

The good old "let's-just-be-friends" line is what does it. The wolf explodes out of me and I'm on all fours howling, my favorite t-shirt in shreds (_dang_).

Nez sighs. "Fine. Be that way."

And she walks back into the house.

*******

I should have seen it coming.

I'm pretty sure I'm cursed or something. I mean, I get dumped painfully by every girl I fall in love with. Every. Single. Girl. Well, there's only really been two, but come on! They _both_ dumped me for a vampire. I friggin' _hate_ vampires.

I hang around until Nez's birthday, hoping Felix is a phase. He isn't. On her seventh birthday, she introduces him to her parents. He grabs her butt when he thinks no one's looking. She gives him this smoldering, sexy look that she's never given me, not even that one time we kissed.

That's when I know I have to leave. I can't watch him with her. It's like it used to be watching Bella with Edward, only like a million times worse. But I can't kill him either (oh how I want to), because it would break her heart—and I always want Nez to be happy.

So I tell Leah she's the Alpha now. I shove some of my less destroyed clothes in a duffel bag. I leave a note for Bella, and another one for Nez. And then I hit the road behind the wheel of my old Rabbit, and I don't look back.

As I watch the trees flash by, I make myself three promises:

I'm never going to phase again.

I'm never going back to Forks again.

And I'm sure as hell never falling in love again.

EVER.


	2. 2: Lauren

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_2. Lauren_

I'm taking a break from waiting tables at the Olive Garden when my cell phone vibrates in my skirt pocket.

"Hello?" I answer, idly tapping the ashes from the end of my cigarette.

"Mommy," my daughter's voice sobs. "I'm si-hi-hick."

I swear mentally. Out loud I say, "Oh no, baby, how bad is it?"

"I barfed in class," she sniffles.

Joy.

"Everyone said ewww," she continues. "And Mrs. Hubbard said a Really Bad Word. Can I go home, Mommy?"

I sigh. "I'll see what I can do, baby. Just hang in there, 'kay?"

"'Kay," Katie says forlornly, and hangs up.

I swear again out loud. Then I go in to find my boss.

"I have to go," I tell him. "My daughter got sick in school."

He glares at me. "Tell me another one, Lauren."

"I'm serious, Michael, she just called and told me she threw up in class," I say, starting to get angry. Michael is a total douchebag. Sort of like Katie's father. And the last five men I've dated. God, I can't even think of a single man in my life that I like—except possibly my dad and brother. And they live in California now.

"Fine," Michael says reluctantly. "I'll get Deirdre to take over for you. This better be a real emergency."

I head off to change into my street clothes, grumbling under my breath. Geez. He seems to think leaving before my shift is over is, like, a crime or something. Just because that one time I blew off work to go on a date with that one guy…who never called me back after I told him I have a six-year-old daughter. Loser.

After I've yanked on my jeans and t-shirt in a bathroom stall, I stare at myself in the mirror. A twenty-six-year-old woman stares back, layered white-blonde hair to her shoulders, teenager-y clothes not disguising those last few pounds I couldn't seem to lose after having Katie. I'm not horribly unattractive, I guess—at least, not after I've done my hair and makeup in the morning. Probably that's why I still attract jerks after all these years. But I don't love my face. I'm tired of it.

Not for the first (or last) time, I wish I hadn't dropped out of college so quickly. I was halfway through my freshman year when I quit in order to marry Katie's dad, Adam Simmons. Adam was several years older than me—he was my friend's cousin, and she set us up on a blind date. The chemistry between us was immediate; but after the initial passion wore off, we found out our personalities (and views about commitment) were too different to coexist peacefully. Unfortunately, we were married by then, and Katie was a year old. We tried to make it work for another year, but after he slept with like three different women (that I knew of—there were probably more) behind my back, I put my foot down and left, taking Katie with me.

Now, four years later, I'm just another face in the crowds of Seattle—working my butt off to support myself and Katie, while playing mom the best I know how. My dream career in the fashion industry is pretty much down the toilet.

I pull into the parking lot of Katie's school and head toward the office. The secretary looks up and, seeing my blond hair, says, "You must be here to pick up Kathleen."

I nod, and the secretary waves me back to the nurse's room. Katie's in there, her fine blond hair—the same color as mine—straggling out of its ponytail. She's still sniffling and looks pretty nauseous.

"Mommy," she whimpers when she sees me.

"Oh, baby." I hug her gingerly around the shoulders, hoping against hope I won't get what she has. I can't afford to call in sick to work—Michael hates me enough already.

"Mrs. Simmons, I just need you to sign Kathleen out," says the secretary, handing me a clipboard.

"It's Ms. Mallory," I correct, taking the clipboard. I always liked my maiden name better, and since Adam refused to even pay child support, there was no reason I ought to use his last name.

"I'm sorry," says the secretary, flustered. "Thank you, Ms. Mallory."

I lead Katie outside and give her a plastic bag before we go in the car. "If you need to throw up, tell me so I can pull over, okay? But if you can't make it, try to get it in the bag and not in the car."

She nods unhappily and climbs into the backseat.

We make it to the apartment safely, but Katie looks even greener than before when she steps slowly out of the car. I lead her toward the stairs, hoping to safely install her in the bathroom with a glass of water and some blankets for the rest of the day.

Two men come down the stairs toward us—from the sound of it, wrapping up a business deal. "Thank you," says the taller of the two, a guy about my age, dressed in ripped jeans and a grease-stained white t-shirt. "I can move in tomorrow, then?"

"Yes." The other guy is middle-aged and wearing a suit. I vaguely recognize him as the guy who owns the apartment complex. "Remember, rent is due on the first of each month."

"Right."

"Mommy?" says Katie in a small voice.

The men are right in front of us, and I suddenly recognize the tall one, too. He's one of the Quileute boys my friends and I used to flirt with when we were at the beach. I can't quite recall his name—Joseph, maybe? Jacob?

"Hi," I say, surprising myself and him.

He pauses to glance at me. "Hi," he says, without a trace of recognition. He looks preoccupied and kind of stressed, like he's had a rough day. I can sympathize.

I'm wondering if I should say something else when Katie distracts me by gagging. I look down just in time to watch her vomit all over Joseph-or-Jacob's shoes.

He swears loudly and jumps back, but the damage is done. The suit guy steps quickly out of range, looking horrified.

"Oh my God." I want to _die_.

"What the _hell?_" he demands, his lips curled back from his teeth in disgust.

"I'm so sorry," I say. And I grab Katie by the hand and run for it.


	3. 3: Jacob

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_3. Jacob_

So I'm kind of surprised when this random blonde chick says hi to me in the stairwell of my new apartment building.

I'm even more surprised when her first-grader barfs on my feet.

I'd just finished up my deal with the landlord of my new apartment building. It was going to be a relief to move out of the crappy motel I've been staying in and have a place of my own.

I applied for a job this morning, too, and I was pretty confident I'd get it. I stopped by this auto repair shop on a whim, finding out if they needed help, and ended up helping one of the mechanics fix the air conditioning system on some rich guy's Winnebago before handing him my résumé.

My day was going pretty well—I mean, about as well as it could go, considering I moved away from home for the first time in my life a week ago. After paying the first three months' rent on my new apartment, I have enough money left to live on for about a month (if I eat nothing but Top Ramen) before I'll be in desperate need of a job.

So, yeah, I'm pretty much landing on my feet.

Unfortunately, my good day comes to a screeching halt when something _else_ lands on my feet.

The blonde chick mutters an apology and hurries her kid away without even offering to help me clean up. I stand there covered in puke and wonder what you are supposed to do in this situation. Find the nearest bathroom and clean up? Tear off your pants and walk around in the pink heart boxers your friend gave you on your last birthday as a joke? (Leah's got a weird sense of humor.) Or just drive home with the insides of some first-grader's stomach splattered on you from the knee down?

"Who the heck," I finally say to the shocked landlord, "was that?"

"Oh, er, um," says the landlord, flustered, "that was, er, Lauren Mallory and her daughter Kathleen. Katie. They live…er, actually, they live next door to you."

"Oh badword," I say, and then I bite hard on my own tongue. Damn. Using "badword" instead of actual bad words is a habit I picked up when Nez was little. Even after she learned the bad words and started using them, I couldn't break it. And it sounds really embarrassing when you say it in front of adults. "So does the kid…Katie?…does she, you know, upchuck on everyone she meets?"

"No," says the guy, now thoroughly embarrassed. "She must have the flu or something."

Great. I haven't phased in three weeks…I hope my wolf immune system is still working. I _really_ don't want to get sick, especially not now, when I'm just getting used to living by myself.

On the bright side, if I do, it'll mean I won't have to eat any Top Ramen for awhile.

I have to do something about these pants. I really don't want to walk around in them, though, so I say, "I'm very sorry about this, sir," to the landlord. Then I toe off my shoes and step out of my pants. Heart boxers be damned. (I'm going to have to get Leah some equally embarrassing underwear for her birthday. Possibly the day-of-the-week kind. I know she can't be bothered to wear them in order, and I also know that Collin and Brady will have way too much fun teasing her when she wears Wednesday's underwear on Friday.)

The thing about being a werewolf is, you get really used to walking around naked or in your underwear. It's other people's reactions you have to worry about. I hold the pants as far away from myself as possible and say, "Nice doing business with you," ready to make a dash for my car.

Then something registers in the back of my mind. "Hey, what did you say her name was? That blonde chick, I mean."

"Lauren Mallory?" says the guy, carefully not looking at me.

Lauren Mallory. How come that name sounds familiar?

Wait a second. I know. She was one of Bella's human friends…the one Embry thought was hot. She used to have this wacky, super-short haircut with long bangs in front. That sort of 'do was hard to forget, especially with Lauren's white-blonde hair.

I also seem to remember someone—was it Bella or Embry?—describing her in passing as a "cold-hearted bitch."

Wow, so she has a kid now. Weird. Wonder what kind of guy married her. Or maybe didn't marry her, because wasn't Mallory her maiden name?

_Typical_, I think. _Poetic justice_. The mean girl gets knocked up right out of high school and becomes a single mom. It's what probably happens after every chick flick ends. The main character gets her happy-ever-after; meanwhile, the evil chick falls from popularity and goes off and has a sad life.

I realized I was still standing there holding my pukey pants and probably looking really stupid. "Okay, um, well, I'll just go now. Thank you, sir," I add, hoping the guy won't hate me now.

As I drive away, I think about the blonde in her mid-twenties, and then about the girl with the crazy haircut that Embry had a crush on. _I guess we've all changed_, I think, comparing my happy-go-lucky pre-wolf self to the twice-dumped, bitter loser that I am now.

I find myself feeling sorry for Lauren Mallory. If she's gone through half of what I have since those days of flirting on the beach, she's made of stronger stuff than any of us would ever have guessed.

*******

After the barf incident, I would've been quite happy never to see Lauren or her kid ever again in my whole life. But somebody Up There has it in for me, and so, a week after I move in (with the brand-new furniture Alice Cullen insists on buying "as a gift from the whole family," a.k.a. they all feel sorry for me), I meet Katie again.

I'm in my work clothes, about to go off and fix cars all day (I did get the job), and I've got a box of generic-brand Froot Loops in one hand when I open the door. I bend over to pick up the morning paper and hear another door open.

"You like Froot Loops?" says a little-girl voice, surprised.

I look up. Katie's standing there with her newspaper clutched in both hands. She's still in her pajamas—they are the footie kind, with Dora the Explorer on them.

I shrug. "Froot Loops are good."

"Lucky Charms are better," says the kid confidently. "Oh. Mommy says to tell you sorry for barfing on you last week."

"Er, that's okay." It _only_ scarred me for life, you know, no big deal.

"I had the flu really bad," she continues. Geez. I guess she's one of those kids who never shuts up. "But it only lasted a day. Guess what? Mommy has it now."

"Um, cool?"

"She barfed _four times_ last night," Katie says, like it's something to be proud of. "I heard her. She's making me get the paper while she cusses at Michael for not letting her take the day off."

"Who's Michael?"

"Her boss. He's a douchebag," says Katie solemnly.

"Whoa! Language, kiddo!" I say. Actually it's kind of funny, hearing this cute little girl say something like that. I would have laughed, except I had learned from experience that you don't encourage a little kid to say bad stuff. If you do, they'll say it loudly in front of people or in public places.

Katie looks abashed. "That's what Mommy calls him."

I bite my lip. _Do not laugh. Do not laugh_.

"How old are you?" Katie ventures.

"Um, twenty-four." What is it with little kids and age? It's, like, the all-important question—you judge someone based on if they're older, younger, or the same age as you.

"Oh. You're almost as old as Mommy!" She says this with mild awe, like I'm already a senior citizen. I guess twenty-four must be ancient when you're....

"How old are _you_?" I ask.

"Six." She grins proudly.

"Wow. Great. So I heard your name's Katie, is that right?"

"Yep. You're Joseph-or-Jacob," she tells me.

"I am?"

"Mommy said she didn't remember which one."

I laugh then. "It's just Jacob." So she remembered me? That would explain why she'd said hi to me in the stairwell. I mean, I hadn't pinned her as the randomly polite type. You didn't get too many of those in Seattle.

I glance at my watch and realize I'm going to be late if I don't hurry up. "Gosh, sorry, Katie, but I've gotta go to work. Shouldn't you be getting ready for school?"

"Mommy says I can stay home."

"Oh. Sweet." Far be it from me to force a kid to go to school. I remember how much I hated it myself. "Well, see you later, Katie."

"Bye, Jacob."

I go inside to find my shoes and car keys, thinking how weird it was to talk to a normal kid. One who isn't mentally developed way past her maturity level and who grows at a normal rate.

I realize Katie is only a year younger than Nez. _I kissed a girl only a year older than that little blonde girl_, I think, and feel a stab of disgust at myself. Then the ache of missing Nez drowns it out. _Dammit, I thought I repressed that_. I allow myself to stare moodily at my watery coffee before shaking my head, emptying the mug into the sink, and stuffing Nez into the deepest, darkest corner of my mind.

Then I head out to my car, whistling _Bohemian Rhapsody_ to drown out the pity party in my head.

Yeah, I know, I'm a dork.


	4. 4: Nez

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_4. Nez_

You wouldn't _believe_ how much my parents freak out when I introduce them to my new boyfriend, Felix.

If my mom was still human, she would have fainted. I swear. She stops breathing and just, like, stands there _staring_, not moving a muscle.

My dad, on the other hand, looks like he's about to challenge Felix to a fight to the death. His lip curls in a snarl.

Felix trails a soothing hand down my back. Then he slides his hand in my back pocket, and I blush a little, feeling his fingers cupping the curve of my butt. The electricity from that simple touch alone makes me want to jump him right in front of my parents. The chemistry between us is _incredible_—the stuff of romance novels (like the ones lining the bottom of Rosalie's thong drawer...she only _thinks_ they're well-hidden). When I'm with him, I can hardly think straight. He makes me crazy, in a good way. A _very_ good way.

Vaguely, I notice Jacob slip away. I feel a little sorry for him, but what am I supposed to do? I've never felt like this with Jacob. Jacob is so safe..._too_ safe. With Felix, I feel dangerous, sexy, confident. Living with a family of vampires who all consider me a baby, I have never felt that way in my life...until Felix.

"What _exactly_ are your intentions, Felix?" demands my father. If looks could kill, I'd be sweeping Felix into a dustpan.

"Well, sir," says Felix, glancing at me with a little smirk, "I want to take your daughter with me to Italy when I leave."

And I want to go. Oh how I want to.

Dad glowers. "I don't think—"

"After I marry her, of course," Felix says smoothly. I feel the color rise in my cheeks. We haven't discussed marriage yet. Such a thing seems so very _human_, a silly formality...and yet, my parents got married, and they seem happy enough. So do all my aunts and uncles.

"Renesmee Carlie Cullen, you are _seven years old_," says Mom, having recovered. "You are not getting married. It's not legal."

My mouth drops open. "Mom, I look twenty-one! No one'll know the difference!"

"Yes, but what are you going to do when they ask to see your birth certificate?" she wants to know.

Oh. Hmm. Good point.

"So you want me to wait ten years to be with Felix?" I say, my voice shaking. "That's longer than I've been _alive_. How could I live alone all that time?"

"You have us, honey," says Mom, her golden eyes widening in that guilt-trippy _don't-leave-me_ Mom look.

"No, I see what this is about." I'm starting to lose my temper now. "You want me to reconsider, don't you? You think I'll get over Felix and go back to Jacob? Mom, Dad, may I take this opportunity to say _get real_? I love Jacob, but I'm not _in love_ with him! I could never marry him. It'd be like marrying my brother."

"That isn't true," Dad says. "Renesmee, you know we would rather you were with Jacob, but we respect your decisions. Our real concern is that Felix is only courting you so that Aro can get his hands on you and your power—and possibly control us through you."

I'm so angry now that I can hardly speak. How can he say this? And in front of Felix, too! "I can't _believe_ you," I say angrily. I'm about to say more, but Felix interrupts.

"Edward, I assure you, I am _not_ acting on Aro's orders," Felix says. "You have been reading my thoughts this whole time. Do you see anything of the sort?"

Dad is forced to admit he doesn't. "But that means nothing," he argues. "Aro may have taught you to control what you think."

"_Dad!_"

"I'm just trying to look out for you, Renesmee."

"_Stop calling me Renesmee!_" I explode. "My name is _Nez_."

Dad takes a deep breath. "Sorry. _Nez_. We just want what's best for you. Do you really think it's a good idea to get involved in a serious relationship when you only have seven years' worth of maturity?"

I roll my eyes. "What, so now you're saying I'm immature?"

"Nez, angel, I think we should talk about this later," Mom says. "Right now you and Edward are just getting mad. Besides, your party's about to start."

Great. Aunt Alice always throws birthday parties for me, and they're _always_ decorated in pink. I_ hate_ pink.

But at least I usually get expensive presents out of it.

I heave a sigh. "All right. Let's get this over with, and then we'll talk."

******

"Your parents are really overprotective," Felix observes, wrapping his arms around me.

"I know." I glance back at the house. We barely managed to get away—Jacob's whole wolf pack is over, although Jacob himself is missing. "Felix, I'm sorry about what my dad said. That was really rude of him."

"No, it is a fair concern. I _am_ here on Volturi business." Felix traces the side of my face. "And Aro _would_ like to get his claws into you, I am sure."

"How could you prevent it, then?" I ask. "I mean, if we were together...you're part of the Volturi guard. It would be hard to keep away from them."

Felix nods. "There is only one way I can think of, but I do not think you will like it."

"What?"

"Agree to join the Volturi." When I stiffen, he hastens to explain. "You would make a pact with Aro—live with us, allow him to observe you, but he can never use you against your family. You could even ask for partial freedom, so you could hunt _your way_ once in awhile."

The prospect isn't a very attractive one. Since I was tiny, I've had it drilled into my head: Volturi are evil, Volturi are dangerous. Volturi are not to be trusted. And yet....

"I think I could bear it if you were with me," I say.

He smiles. He really _is_ the most gorgeous guy—dark hair, olive skin, eyes the color of dark red wine...even for a vampire, he's beautiful.

I think I could bear _anything_ if he was with me.

I kiss him, and as I do, I send him a mind-movie of how I felt when he stuck his hand in my pocket earlier. I feel him react, eagerly crushing me into him.

"Love you," I whisper between kisses.

"Ti amo," he sighs back.

"A-_hem_."

We pull apart. Uncle Emmett is standing there, trying not to smirk.

"Bella wants to talk to you, Nez," he says.

_Ugh_. I make a face and extract myself from Felix's arms. "Don't go away," I say.

"I will be here," he promises.

I gaze one last time at his striking face and then head inside to face the music.

*******

My parents tell me I can't leave or get married until I'm at least sixteen. They say I can still see Felix, but I can't live with him.

Well, that's it. I'm going to have to run away.

*******

Later, I find the letter on my pillow.

_Dear Nez,_

_Sorry. I have to leave. I can't watch you with him. I can see he makes you happy, and you know I want you to be happy, but it hurts too much to see him touch you. _

_I'm going to Seattle, and I'm staying there. I'm not coming back. Nez, if you ever need me—if the leech_ [here something is scribbled out]—_just come and find me. I promise I won't be too hard to find._

_But as long as you're with him, I don't want to see you anymore._

_Love you always,_

_Jacob_

I hug my knees to my chest, suddenly feeling miserable. Jake has _always_ been there for me. I guess I always thought he'd be there forever, whatever I chose to do.

With him around, I always felt so safe. Now, as his absence sinks in, I begin to feel vulnerable and exposed—like the walls of my room have unexpectedly disappeared.

"I'm going to miss you," I whisper to the smudgy note.


	5. 5: Lauren

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_5. Lauren_

I curl up on the bathroom floor, wanting to die. In the other room, I can hear Katie watching SpongeBob Squarepants; even SpongeBob's voice makes me nauseous today.

"I haaaate being sick," I moan under my breath. I used to whine like that to Daddy when I was sick, and Daddy would bring me a glass of Sprite and a plate of crackers and give me a back rub. I start to cry silently, partly because I feel so weak and sick, partly because I miss Daddy. I wonder how he and Drew are doing. Drew, my brother, started his senior year at UCLA last fall. He's studying biology—and he's really good at it. Like _ridiculously_ smart.

At least _one_ of the Mallory siblings has a future.

Oh great. Now I'm weeping about how pathetic my life is, on top of the other stuff. I _really_ need to pull it together.

There's a knock on the door.

"I'll get it!" Katie yells. I hear her feet pattering and the door creaking open. There's an indistinct conversation between her and a man, and then she calls, "Mommy, Mr. Jacob wants to talk to you!"

I moan a swearword. "Honey, tell him I'm sick."

More footsteps. "That's why I'm here," says Jacob's voice from outside the bathroom door. "I brought you some stuff."

I groan again. "Get lost, or _I'll_ barf on you too."

He opens the door. "C'mon, your twenty-four hours have to be up soon, don't they?"

I cover my face with my hands. I haven't showered in what feels like a month, I don't have a speck of makeup on, and I'm wearing my oldest, rattiest pair of sweats. Not to mention I'm in fetal position on my bathroom floor. And now there's a cute guy staring at me. Can this day _get_ any worse?

"I, uh, brought you some Sprite," says Jacob. I look through a crack in my fingers and see him holding up a six-pack of soda. "And Saltines." A package of crackers in the other hand. "My dad always used to give me Sprite and Saltines when I was sick."

It must be the bug that makes me burst into tears all over again.

Jacob looks down at me, mildly alarmed. I can tell he's thinking about dropping the soda and running for it.

I swallow my hysterical sobs and force myself upright. My stomach lurches, but it's too empty for me to throw up again. "Sorry," I mumble. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm kind of a wreck."

He doesn't seem to know what to say, so he shuffles his feet and says "um" a few times.

"You can put the Saltines on the kitchen table," I prompt him. I want him to leave as soon as possible, so that his mental image of me does not become this greasy, weepy basket case grovelling on the bathroom floor.

But it _was_ really sweet of him to bring that stuff. How could he have known that it was exactly what Daddy used to give me when I was sick? _Oh, right, 'cause it was what his dad gave him_. Maybe our dads knew each other. That thought makes me giggle.

Jacob pauses in the doorway. "Uh, are you okay?"

I force myself to stop laughing. "I haven't eaten anything today," I explain. "I get kind of crazy when I starve myself." Found that out the hard way when I went anorexic for three days in my sophomore year of high school.

"Mommy, are you feeling better?" That from Katie, who pokes her head into the bathroom. She's still wearing her Dora the Explorer pajamas.

"Katie, how come you never got dressed?" I ask, using the towel rack to pull myself to my feet.

"Cause my jammies are more comfy," Katie says, in a _like, duh_ tone of voice. "But, Mommy, I have to go potty and you've been in there _all morning_."

"Oh. Sorry." I hobble out of the bathroom and stand back so she can go in.

"Need some help?" Jacob asks.

"No thank you," I say grouchily. "I still remember how to walk."

And of course, as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I trip and have to grab the wall to keep from falling on my face.

"Oh, really?" says Jacob, smirking.

"F you."

"Such language." He's really enjoying himself. That makes _one_ of us.

"Look, just go away," I snap. "I'm not in the mood to talk to strange guys who barge into my house being suspiciously nice."

"Suspicious? Ouch. I was just trying to help." He gives me an innocent face. "I remembered you from when we were kids, and Katie was nice to me this morning, so I thought I'd return the favor."

I close my eyes, which turns out not to be a good idea as I lose my balance and have to reach for the wall again. "Oh, God, what'd she say to you?"

"Oh, just that you were sick. And that she likes Lucky Charms better than Froot Loops. And that your boss is a douchebag."

"What?!"

He smiles smugly. "I'm just repeating what she said."

"I have _got_ to start a swear jar," I say. How embarrassing. My kid says bad words in front of strangers.

"Actually, I thought it was cute. Though obviously you don't," he adds hastily, "being her mom and all."

"You think?"

We reach the kitchen, and I sit down heavily at the kitchen table. My stomach feels a little better now that I'm not curled into a tiny ball, so I reach for one of the cans of Sprite. "Have one," I say to Jacob.

He pops open a second can and, not looking at me, asks, "So, uh, where's Katie's dad?"

I stare at the table. "We divorced four years ago. He hasn't seen Katie since."

"Oh." Awkward silence. "I'm sorry," he mutters finally.

"He was a jerk anyway," I say. The Sprite doesn't feel great in my empty stomach, but at least it's not coming back up. Suddenly, I kind of wish it were hard liquor. Then at least I'd have an excuse for having this conversation with a guy I haven't seen since I was eighteen.

"Well," Jacob says, "I better go. I just stopped by to drop that stuff off. Hope you feel better."

"Thanks," I say. Why is he being so nice? Maybe he wants to get into my pants, though that's doubtful as I currently look like crap.

Annoyingly, I'm starting to like him for it. Not good. Feelings of liking often lead to feelings of attraction, and after that it's five dates max before he reveals his stupid jerk side and breaks my heart all over again.

I can't let that happen. So I say, "You can let yourself out—no need to lock the door," and go back to contemplating the can of sprite.

I don't look up until I hear the door click shut.

"It's better for both of us if you don't come back," I mutter at the closed door. "Trust me on that."


	6. 6: Nez

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_6. Nez_

Whoever said nothing is impossible never tried slamming a revolving door. Or sneaking out of a house full of hypersensitive vampires who _never sleep_.

I haven't even finished packing my duffel bag before Aunt Alice comes in. "Hi, Nez," she chirps.

I kick the bag under my bed and stand up, putting on my fake Angel Face. Works on my family every time. "Yes?"

She dances over to sit on the edge of my bed. "Bella told me what she and Edward said to you," she says solemnly, wide golden eyes watching me as I shuffle awkwardly with my hands behind my back.

"What did she tell you?"

"That you want to marry Felix and go off to Volterra with him, and they said no."

I drop the shirt I'm holding and sit down, facing away from her. "Yeah, and did they mention the part where they're totally getting back at me for Jacob disappearing? That's _not my fault_."

"I know it isn't," says Alice softly. "And so does Bella. It was Jacob's choice."

"Then why won't they let me get married? If it was Jacob I wanted to marry, I bet we'd be having a church wedding within the week."

"That's not true, Nez," Alice says. "You're only seven years old. You need some time to experiment with relationships—you can't just get serious with the first guy that comes along."

"God! You sound just like them!" I jump up again and start pacing, grinding my teeth.

Alice sighs delicately, folding her legs up criss-cross applesauce. "I didn't come up here to lecture you, Nez. I came to tell you about my vision."

I pause. "Vision?"

"Yes." She meets my eyes, and I have a sinking feeling that this vision isn't going to be good.

I sit down again, facing her this time. "Tell me."

She closes her eyes. "You're going to run away with Felix. That's pretty clear at this point. After that...." She pauses. "There are two possibilities."

_Please say one involves happiness_, I beg silently.

"The first...is that Felix will take you to Volterra, and Aro will immediately take steps to ensure you cannot leave." She opens her eyes. "Your gift isn't of particular interest to him. He wants you as insurance, as a hostage...potentially as bait. He knows you're important to us, and please believe me when I say he will use that to his advantage."

"Aro didn't send Felix to lure me to Volterra, did he?" I ask anxiously. I'd been worrying about it since Dad brought up the possibility.

Alice shakes her head. "As far as I know, no, he didn't. I think it is fairly safe to believe Felix's own story—that he is here simply to watch us."

I fall back onto my pillow, breathing a huge sigh of relief. So Felix does love me. I _knew_ it couldn't be a lie.

"There is another possibility," Alice reminds me.

"This is the one where Felix and I escape the Volturi and live in eternal happiness, right?" I ask.

Alice hesitates. "Well...you _do_ escape the Volturi."

"And?"

"Aro sends his goons after you, of course, but you two outsmart them and he gives up. Felix isn't gifted, so he's not vital to Aro's guard."

"And _then_ the happily ever after," I persist.

But Alice shakes her head. "Nez, there's one enormous difference between you and Felix. Do you know what that is?"

"I'm seven and he's over a hundred?"

"Your _diet_," Alice says, exasperated. "If you go with Felix, and you evade the Volturi, Felix will turn you to his way of living. You will begin to feed on human blood. Those are your choices if you run away, Nez. Life as a Volturi pet or life as a renegade who kills humans. Think carefully about that while you finish packing that bag you have hidden under your bed."

She rises and walks out the door while I'm still standing there stunned.

"Hey," I say at the closing door, "you aren't going to tell, are you?"

*******

It isn't even a hard choice, not really.

Life with my family is stifling. Life with the Volturi would be even more so, whether or not they were evil. I want away from both of them, and I want action and excitement in my life. Most of all, I want it to be _my_ life.

So it's pretty much a no-brainer.

"Let's run away together," I whisper to Felix, sliding into the passenger seat of his nondescript black car—the one he used to use to tail my family and me when we went out. "Away from here, from Italy...let's _go_ somewhere. I'm thinking Australia, or maybe South America."

He looks a question at me. "I thought you wanted to go with me to Volterra, _cara_."

I reach for his hand and send him a mind-movie of Alice telling me her vision. _Aro will immediately take steps to ensure you cannot leave... He wants you as insurance, as a hostage...potentially as bait_.

Felix looks unhappy. "Aro is even more selfish than I believed," he says. "I did not think he would cage you if you came willingly."

"Alice's visions don't lie," I say. Well, except the part about me turning murderess. _That_ part was probably a mistake.

"Did she see what happens if we run from the Volturi?" Felix asks.

I smile. "Yes. She saw that we would be able to outsmart the vampires Aro sends after us. You were part of the guard—you know the way they work, right? It shouldn't be hard to get away."

"What of your family?"

"Alice didn't say, but I think they'll respect that this is my choice," I say. "My dad'll probably go berserk-o and come after us, but I know the way he hunts. I can evade him. Dad'll go looking in Volterra first, which is precisely why we won't go there."

"You have convinced me," Felix says, cupping my cheek briefly. He starts up the engine. "Where to, Nez, _il mio amore_?"

In that moment, I love him more than I had ever thought possible.

"Let's shoot for California today," I say. "Tomorrow...we got our pick of six continents. We can go _anywhere_. Anywhere in the whole wide world!" I love the way it sounds. Touching Felix's arm, I send him some of my giddy excitement.

His mouth curves up deliciously, and he hits the gas pedal.

I watch Forks, Washington melt into the trees in the rearview mirror.


	7. 7: Jacob

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_7. Jacob_

Who the hell is knocking on my door at four in the morning?

I stumble out of bed, bump my knee, swear, yank on some jeans, and shuffle to answer it. "This better be good," I growl at whoever it is.

It's Edward Cullen.

"What're _you_ doin' here?"

"Can I come in?" he asks, polite, grim, and—damn the man—wide awake.

"I guess." I stand back to let him in.

He walks into my kitchen and sits down at the table (which is currently littered with last week's mail and newspaper, plus a bowl of two-day-old, Froot-Loops-colored milk). I shamble to the other chair and lower myself into it.

"You aren't here to get me to come back, are you?" I say, squinting in the unaccustomed brightness of the overhead light. "Because unless Nez asks me back in person—and dumps that leech—I'm not gonna."

"Believe me, that isn't it," Edward says tightly.

I open my eyes a little wider. "What happened, Cullen?" He looks like he just ate people food or something.

"My daughter has run away," he says.

"Lemme guess. She eloped with the Italian Stallion." I've been expecting it. That doesn't make it hurt any less, but I try to repress the pain. I'm not going to be a jealous jerk of an ex-boyfriend. If Felix makes Nez happy, I won't stand in the way.

(Hey, listen, do you hear that? Yeah, that shattering sound? Wonder what that is? Definitely not my _heart_, 'cause that'd be, like, _so_ pathetic and cliché.)

Edward nods, confirming it. Dang, I wouldn't wanna be standing in Felix's shoes right now—he looks pretty murderous.

"And you're telling me this because...."

"Jacob, I've been trying to track them for three days. They haven't gone to Volterra. I can't find a lead anywhere. Alice can't see where they're going—or she won't tell me. I don't know, all I get is _Two Gentlemen of Verona_ translated into German when I try to read her. You're my last hope."

"How? The _last_ place they'd wanna go is here." Yeah, that'd be a really romantic honeymoon, hiding out in your ex-boyfriend's apartment.

"I need you to tell me if there's anywhere Nez ever mentioned she would love to go. If she told anyone, she would have told you."

I groan and let my head fall onto last Thursday's paper. "Edward, you woke me up at four in the freakin' morning to ask me about Nez's travel plans?"

"It's kind of important," Edward says, his voice unnaturally calm.

"Okay, okay." I try to think. "I think she said she wanted to go to Europe. You know, Ireland, England, and stuff. Supposedly it rains a lot there too—she thought it'd be a good place for a vampire to settle down."

"I already thought of that." Edward drums his fingers, leaving dents in my tabletop. "But they're running from the Volturi, too—Felix deserted Aro's guard. The Volturi are everywhere looking for them. Europe is the last place they would want to be."

I shrug. "She doesn't like really hot places, so you can rule out anywhere in the middle of the desert. Other than that, I got nothin'."

Edward slams his palm down on the table, denting the dents.

"Dude, that's the only table I got," I say.

He takes a deep breath. "Sorry."

"Look, Cullen, can I give you some advice?" I add. "Let Nez make mistakes, okay? She never said it to me outright, but I always got the feeling she hates being babied. And that's all you guys ever do to her—me, too, and I wish I didn't. If she wants to run off with Felix, let her. I like it even less than you do, but if we love her, we can't stop her. It's her life now. Let her live it."

Edward's quiet for awhile, then he nods. "You're right, Jacob," he says. "We do treat her as a child, because in many ways, she is one. I would be happy to leave her alone, if it weren't for...."

"For what?" I prompt him.

"The one thing I got out of Alice, between the lines of Shakespeare in German, was that if Nez is alone with Felix, he will turn her to his way of living. She'll learn to hunt humans."

I don't realize I've jumped to my feet until my chair hits the ground. The wolf surges in me, and I barely manage to force it down. Images of my sweet baby girl _killing people_ flash before my eyes, and I suddenly hate Felix more than I ever hated him before. "Get her back, Edward, if it's the last thing you do," I grit out. "Get out of my apartment and go and find her. Do it now."

He stands too, composed. "I'll do my best," he murmurs. "Jacob, can I count on your help if I need it?"

"Damn right you can. Oh, and Cullen? If you get the leech alive, can I kill him for you?"

"I heard that you were never going to phase again," he says.

"The wolf hasn't left me yet, and this merits an exception."

Edward bares his teeth—more a snarl than a smile. "It's good to know we're on the same page, Black."

*******

Later, as I'm fumbling with the keys to unlock my car so I can go to work, Lauren steps up behind me.

"The hell was that racket this morning, Jacob? You woke both me _and_ Katie up, and probably the rest of the building too."

"Oh, that?" I say, icily calm. "That was me throwing every breakable object I own at my living room wall." It'd taken awhile—and most of my plates—for the wolf to calm down. Oh well. Paper plates were easier to wash anyway.

Her eyebrows go up. "Good to know you're not a psycho or anything," she says, and, taking Katie by the hand, makes her way to her own car.

"_I'm_ not," I mumble, "but you'd be pissed, too, if the girl you love eloped with one."

"What?" she says, turning back.

"Nothin'," I call back, and wrench the Rabbit's door shut.


	8. 8: Nez

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_8. Nez_

The hotel room in Hawaii is cockroach-y, humid, and has a kind of funky smell, but I hardly care. I'm tangled in sheets and Felix, and I don't think I've _ever_ been this happy.

"I still do not understand," Felix says, and I feel his voice vibrating in his chest. "Why did we come to this place? I cannot go outside except at night. It is a bad place for vampires."

I giggle. "My family knows I hate hot, sunny places," I tell him. "I went with Grandma Renee to Phoenix one time, and I came back home telling them how much I loathed it there. So naturally, they'll be looking for me in cool, wet places—Canada, maybe. They'll never find me here."

He presses his lips to my forehead. "You are very smart," he says, a note of laughter in his voice. "I do not like the heat either, but I will bear it for you."

"I'm glad." I close my eyes.

Though I can sleep, Felix cannot—and so I awake, hours later, to find him gone. It's dark outside, and there's a note written on hotel paper on his pillow.

_Nez, _amore_,_

_Have gone out to eat. Will return around 1:00 am._

_Sleep well._

_Felix_

I sigh. I know what his version of eating involves, and I try not to imagine him stalking some poor tourist and—

Unbidden, the incomparable taste and feel of warm human blood fills my memory. My family had given me blood in a bottle when I was a baby. Later, I'd learned to ignore the smell of humans around me; but there had been once, when I was three or so (nine, in appearance), when I'd smelled a human so irresistible that I had to taste him. He was a little boy on the beach where Jacob had taken me to play. I'd bitten him on the wrist, and the blood had flowed hot and delicious... then the boy had wrenched away, crying for his mother, and Jacob had run to me and, chastising me severely, had taken me home. It was a good thing I wasn't venomous, he said. If I had been, I could have created a child vampire—the very thing the Volturi had feared when I was born. As it was, I'd probably scarred the poor kid for life, physically and mentally.

Daddy said that the boy was probably my singer, like Mom had been for him when she was human. He said it wasn't surprising I hadn't resisted, "but next time, Renesmee, you _must_."

Would it be so awful if I were to drink human blood? I wouldn't even have to kill them, since I wasn't venomous. I could just drink a little from several different people, and they'd maybe have bite marks for awhile, but they could tell people it was a really wicked hickey.

And the _taste_. I could never forget the taste, though I learned long ago to ignore the smell.

Regular food has never tasted good to me, though I could exist off it if I had to. Animal blood is better, and the thrill of the hunt is something I learned to love. But neither comes even close to the taste of human blood.

It's been a long time since I last ate. I know the best thing for me to do is to call for room service, or go out and find a McDonalds. But the epiphany I've just experienced—the idea that I could drink from humans and not kill them—is so strong that I'm very tempted to try it right away.

_This is what Alice warned you about_, whispers my conscience.

I ignore it.

I slide out of bed and rummage through my suitcase. I pass over my jeans and sweatshirts, unearthing instead a pair of denim shorts and a white tank top that Alice bought for me. I put them on. If I'm to hunt humans, I'll have to look attractive to them....

The door opens, and Felix enters.

"Ah! You are awake," he says, surprised.

I stand up. "Felix, I've been thinking," I say, twining my arms around him. "I just had an idea, and I want you to help me."

"What can I do for you, _amore_?"

"I want you to teach me to hunt humans."

Shocked and confused, he pulls back and looks me in the eyes. "Why, my love? Your parents, they do not...."

I touch his cheek and send him the realization I'd had—that I could hunt without killing.

His beautiful brow furrows. "Are you sure this is what you want, Nez? I do not want you to be unhappy."

"I want it," I say, and send him another mind-movie, this time a memory of tasting that boy's blood on the beach. Just the thought of it makes my throat dry with longing.

He smiles, his eyes glinting red in the darkness. "I admire you. A lesser woman would not have the courage, as you do, to follow her own wishes over that of her family."

"And it's not like I'll be killing them, even," I reassure myself.

"They are humans," he reminds me, "our intended prey. Killing them is no more a sin than an owl killing a mouse. But if you wish not to kill, I understand."

"Thank you, Felix. I'm so glad you understand." I kiss him long and slow. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He closes his eyes, pressing his cheek to mine briefly, and then we separate and turn toward the door.

"Ready?" he asks.

I bare my teeth in a smile-snarl. "Ready." _Beware, humans. Nez Cullen hunts tonight_.

*******

There are a few bars and nightclubs still open. Felix takes me to a different one than he hunted, and at the door he leaves me. "You cannot lure anyone if you are seen with a mate," he tells me.

I saunter through the crowd, scanning each face. I've already decided to take a man; easier to lure a male with my body than to invent an excuse to get a woman alone.

My victim is sitting alone, staring into space. Either he's drunk or lost in thought; it seems to be a bit of both. I sit down next to him and smile. "Hey."

His eyebrows go up. "Hi."

"I'm Vanessa," I say, leaning forward so that my cleavage is visible.

"Mark." He reaches out to shake my hand, and his scent washes over me. Now that I'm not ignoring it, I can appreciate how delicious it is. I try not to be obvious about inhaling. My stomach growls.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asks.

"No thanks." Alcohol is the worst kind of human beverage. I had a sip of Jacob's beer once at a pack gathering, just to see what it was like, and had to throw it up. "I was just kinda bored and you looked bored too...and thought you might like to talk." _Make it seem like you're unsure of yourself_, Felix had coached me. _Humans always are, and they like it when others are too_.

Mark smiles. "Sure. So you here on vacation, or do you live here?"

"Vacation," I answered. "How about you?" _Keep him talking about himself—the less he knows about you, the better_.

"Yeah. I'm visiting a friend...an ex-girlfriend, actually. Thus the need to drink a lot." He gestured, laughing self-deprecatingly, at whatever nasty brand of poison was in his glass.

"Why are you visiting her then?" I ask. He gets a weird look on his face, and I apologize: "Sorry, I shouldn't've asked."

"It's okay." He looks at the table. "She's raisin' my kid."

"Oh." I wonder how to answer.

"She's got a husband now, so it's all good. Just, I feel like I owe it to my son to visit him once in awhile, y'know?"

"Yeah," I say, dripping false sympathy. I watch as he knocks back the rest of his drink.

Then I strike.

"Come with me," I whisper, putting my hand under his elbow.

He stands and sways. "Dang. I'm drunker'n I thought." His eyes focus on me. "You sure you wanna go somewhere with me?"

"Don't worry," I say, smiling wryly. "You can't knock me up." And I lead him outside.

Felix comes up behind us and whispers, too low for Mark to hear, "Take him two blocks down—there's a nice, dark alley."

So we walk, Felix shadowing us.

"Where're we going?" Mark asks.

"Back to my hotel room." I speed up as he tries to slip his arm around me. When we reach the alley, I all but fling him into it.

Felix is right behind me. "If you don't want to kill, go for the shoulder or arm," he says. "Don't drink too much—just enough so he faints. When he comes to, he'll think he got really drunk and dreamed you."

Turning, I flash a smile at him. "What would I do without you?" I say affectionately.

And then I bend my head to Mark's shoulder and sink in my teeth.


	9. 9: Lauren

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_9. Lauren_

A knock at our door disturbs our dinner that evening (Kraft macaroni and cheese with hot dogs—Katie's request). Not just any knock, either, but the "shave-and-a-haircut" knock. My stomach sinks with dread. I only know one person who knocks like that....

I go to answer it, and there he is.

I can't believe _he_ would show up here. That he has the gall. He hasn't given me jack since the divorce, and yet he walks right up to my door and expects me to welcome him in?

"What the hell do you want, Adam?" I say, reeling from the shock of finding my ex-husband knocking on my door.

He puts on a wounded face. "I wanna see my daughter," he answers. "Is that a crime? I haven't seen her for—"

"Four years," I interrupt. "Four frickin' years, Adam. She's in first grade now. She likes Dora the Explorer and Lucky Charms. Her best friend at school is named Montana. Did you know any of that? No, because you haven't bothered to contact us for _four years_."

"God, Lauren," he says, going on the defensive. "I'm sorry. You _were_ the one who left, remember?"

"I left because you slept with a bunch of other women!" I snap at him, my voice rising. What a total ass! He thinks he can blame this on me?

"Mommy?"

Katie pads out of the kitchen. "Mommy, how come you're yelling?"

"Kathleen!" Adam says, putting on this huge I'm-a-loving-daddy grin. "Hey, honey, remember me?"

Katie wrinkles her forehead and steps halfway behind me. "No," she says in a small voice.

"Honey," I say through gritted teeth, "this is your daddy. Adam...she goes by Katie now."

"Daddy?" Katie, still clinging to my shirt uncertainly, gives Adam a look of intense scrutiny. "You don't have a beard in Mommy's pictures."

The ones that I kept under my bed in a dusty old shoebox. The ones I'd only taken out when she requested to know what Daddy looked like. Of course she neglected to mention that part. Adam was probably going to think I was the kind of sad girl who sits around mourning old relationships. As if! I had totally dated other men since I'd been with him. And, okay, none of them had lasted more than a couple of months, but still....

"Why are you here?" I ask, keeping a protective arm around my daughter's shoulders. "And how did you find out where I'm living?"

"I looked up your address on MapQuest." He shrugged. "I just wanted to see Kathleen—Katie, I mean. I wanted to see how stuff was goin', you know, make sure you were all right." He shuffles.

"BS," I say flatly.

Just then, Jacob happens to walk by my still-open door. Seeing Adam, he pokes his head in. "Lauren? Is everything okay?" he asks. "This guy bothering you?"

"No," I lie. "Jacob, this is Adam Simmons, my ex-husband."

"Hi," says Adam, looking with intense dislike at the way Jacob's muscled arm is leaning casually on my doorframe.

Jacob smiles insincerely. "Jacob Black. I'm Lauren's neighbour. Nice to meet you, too."

Adam looks at him suspiciously. I know what he's thinking—that Jacob's my boy toy or something—so I blurt out the only thing I can think of to keep him from that conclusion.

"He's gay."

Adam turns to raise his eyebrows at me. Over his shoulder, Jacob gives me an outraged look. I smile innocently and hope Jacob won't call me on my fib.

To my not-quite-relief, a busty brunette bimbo comes up behind Jacob and breaks the awkward silence. For a second, I think she's with him—and then she pushes past and links her arm through Adam's. "Sorry, sweetie, the line was longer at Starbucks than I thought it was gonna be." She turns to me. "You must be Lauren! I've heard so much about you! I'm Sydney." She shakes my limp hand.

"I haven't heard a thing about _you_," I say, shooting an accusatory glance at Adam.

"Well, I was getting there," he says apologetically. "Sydney and I got married last month."

"So that's why you came here," I realize. "To gloat. Real mature, Adam."

"That lady can't be married to Daddy," says Katie, confused. "Only mommies can be married to daddies, can't they?"

I groan. That's gonna be one hell of an uncomfortable conversation. I've always been carefully vague on the details about why Adam and I split up.

But that'll come later. Right now, all I want is for Adam and his bimbo to get out of my house.

"Leave," I say, coupling it with my signature Ice Bitch Glare—the one I perfected in high school.

"We were gonna take Katie for ice cream," protests Sydney.

"Now." I continue glaring. My eyebrow muscles start aching.

"Let's go, Syd," says Adam. He's familiar with The Glare. "Bye, Katie. Nice seeing you! Bye, Lauren."

And they beat a hasty retreat.

"Damn, that was awkward," says Jacob, still leaning in my doorway.

"When I said 'leave,' I meant you too." I start closing the door.

"Hey, wait." He jams his foot in the door so I can't shut it all the way. "Sure you're okay? You look pretty pissed."

"I feel great, thanks for your concern." I try to slam the door on his foot. It doesn't even appear to hurt him.

"Would it help," he asks, "if I told you that I've had a pretty sucky week too? Yeah, the love of my life ran off with this Italian guy."

"My heart bleeds." I slam the door again. His foot won't budge.

"Oh, and the Italian guy is a known murderer," he adds.

"Holy sh—" I glance at Katie and bite off the swearword. "My God, Jacob. Why didn't anyone arrest him?"

"Her dad's still chasin' the guy across half the world." He shrugs. "Our trail went cold in California. They could be anywhere."

I open the door a little bit wider. "So were you guys broken up already?"

"Yeah." He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at his feet.

"Then at least she isn't cheating on you," I say. "Count your blessings."

Jacob looks back up. "That jerk did, though? On you?" He tips his head in the direction Adam had gone.

"A bunch of times. Sydney isn't even one of the chicks he did it with. They were girls he partied with at college."

"That's gross," he says angrily. "Guys who do that are—they have no respect for women."

"No sh—I mean no kidding."

"And by the way," he says, "women who tell their exes that the stud leaning comfortably in their doorframe is gay, just to get out of an awkward situation? That's pretty gross too."

"Sorry," I say. Then, "What makes you think you're a stud?"

He opens his mouth to answer, and in doing so, moves his foot out of the way. I slam the door before he can think up a good answer.

Then I lean against it and laugh semi-hysterically until Katie asks if there's something wrong with me. I lean down and hug her and somehow the laughter turns into uncontrollable weeping.

Katie goes away and comes back with my secret stash of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Those help a little.

Later, I pull out the old pictures of Adam and throw darts at them. That helps a lot.

On the back of one of the pictures, I draw a stick figure in blue crayon and label it "murderer." I throw darts at that too. I think Jacob would have appreciated it.


	10. 10: Nez

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_10. Nez_

Mark is perfectly fine.

We leave him in the alley, out cold. Felix has even brought Band-Aids, and slaps a few on Mark's shoulder.

"Next time we should bring antiseptic," I say as we walk away (me reapplying lipgloss in my compact mirror). "I mean, my spit can't be great to have in your bloodstream, venomous or no. He's lucky I don't have a cold or something." Not that I've ever had a cold in my life. Still.

"We can bring a whole first aid kit if you wish," Felix says, his arm around my shoulders. "My brave girl! You were glorious, _cara_. "

"Felix, I think _glorious_ is a little too strong for someone who was biting a guy," I say dryly. Although the way he says it, in his cute Italian accent, makes me feel like I might actually deserve it.

"Feeding is the greatest part of a vampire," he tells me, smiling affectionately. "Humans eat gracelessly, with such complications. Our hunting is beautiful. An art."

I look up at him. In the light of the streetlamps, his face is like a marble statue—a Greek god, Apollo maybe, or Eros. Dangerously flawless. If hunting is an art, _he_ is master and masterpiece combined.

"Kiss me," I whisper.

Felix obliges, chuckling deep in his throat. I transmit the taste of warm human blood to him through a mind-movie. _It was better than I imagined_, I tell him silently, though my psychic link doesn't run to words (just images).

In the middle of the kiss, he stiffens and breaks away, standing death-still and motioning for me to do the same. He inhales.

"What is it?" I ask.

"A Volturi tracker," he whispers. "I know the scent well. We must go back to the hotel and hope he has not yet sensed us."

"How could they have found us so fast?"

Felix puts an arm around me and we begin to walk fast—faster than humans would. It's lucky there aren't many witnesses this time of night. "Their trackers are gifted. Has your family not told you about this?"

"They told me about vampire gifts," I say. But they'd been vague on the ones the Volturi possessed. In fact, other than to tell me they were all evil, they'd avoided the subject of the Volturi altogether.

"Then you know that trackers are gifted with heightened senses and many times they have a...what is the word?..._sixth sense_ about the location of their quarry. We have to leave tonight."

"But they'll be guarding the airport," I say. I know the way these people work. My dad is exactly the same. Too smart.

"Yes," Felix agrees. "If we can lose this tracker, we can go by boat to another island and fly from there."

"Did you just think of that?" I ask.

He smirks. "No. The minute we landed I began forming an escape plan."

"You knew your guys would come after us?"

"I know them well," he says. "They would not give me up so easily. I have been with them for many decades."

"But you're not gifted," I say. "Right? Aunt Alice said that's why they'll give up on us in the end."

"Ah, the vision you told me about," Felix says. "Your aunt foretold we would escape, yes? That is encouraging."

I nod. "But the future changes all the time. If we just sit on our butts, the tracker'll still find us and...rip our heads off or something."

"That is true," Felix says, looking somewhat less comforted.

"If we run, we can get our stuff before we head for the docks," I add.

He flashes a grin at me. "Then we will run."

And we do.

*******

Luck is on our side. We catch the next ferry, and, as Felix laughs at me, I blow raspberries at the receding shore.

The first plane we can get tickets for is headed for Los Angeles. Felix worries about the plane—the sun's coming up in a few hours and what if someone notices that he sparkles?—but once we're on board, I grab some blankets and make him a nice shroud. Then I dig in my carry-on for the ski mask he wore when we had to go out in the sun last time.

Several boring hours later, during which both me and Felix politely refuse the grotesque-looking airplane food, we step off the plane into LAX. I stretch and say, "I swear, if I have to look at another page of _SkyMall Magazine_, I'm gonna go crazy."

Felix, under his hoodie and ski mask, says, "You know that we may have to move on soon, Nez."

"Screw that." I resist making a rude gesture at an airport security guy who's looking suspiciously at Felix's mask. "I want to enjoy my honeymoon, not spend it running away from a bunch of stupid trackers." Not that this is actually a honeymoon, since Felix and I have yet to officially get married. But it's basically the same.

"I want to enjoy your company as well," Felix says. "But we must be careful."

"I knowww." He's such a killjoy sometimes. Mr. I'm-so-mature-because-I'm-like-literally-a-hundred-years-older-than-you and all that. I think sunshine brings it out in him. It makes me irritable too. "So let's go find someplace to crash."

"Crash?"

"Sleep. Or, in your case, sit and watch me sleep."

I think he's smiling in an amused kind of way, but I can't tell because of the mask. "Yes. We will go 'crash,'" he says.

"I really need to teach you more American slang." I drag him outside—he shoves his hands in his pockets and shrinks back into his hood—and try to call a cab. It's harder than normal, because a guy in a ski mask when it's like 80 degrees outside does not comfort most people. I clutch my suitcase and hope I'm not glowing too badly.

Finally, an intrepid cab driver picks us up. We tell him to drive as far away from the airport as possible (in case the Volturi are still following us) and look out the window for decent hotels.

We find one about twenty minutes away. Felix grumps about how we won't be able to get back to the airport in a hurry, but I inform him that there's such thing as a rental car, and we can get one if we really need to. We pay the driver and head indoors to sit in our room with the curtains drawn, waiting for night.

*******

As soon as the sun sets, we're out on the party scene looking for dinner.

I lure away a couple—a really drunk girl and her somewhat less drunk boyfriend—and drink small amounts from both of them. I even remembered to bring the antiseptic this time, and bandage them up neatly. Felix goes off on his own and comes back wiping red from the corners of his mouth, looking a lot more cheerful now that he's full.

I examine the redness on his finger. "Is that _lipstick_?"

He shrugs. "She was _very_ friendly. Now she is dead."

I glance back at the couple, draped over each other against the side of somebody's house. "I think I'll grab one more before we go back, 'kay, Felix?"

He nods. "I will wait here."

I take a deep breath, adjust my push-up bra for maximum sluttiness, and head back into the party.

I inhale, trying to filter out the reek of alcohol and determine which of these stupid college kids smells the best. Mmm…not him, not him. Definitely not that guy—geez, has he _ever_ had a bath?

Aha. That one.

He smells mouthwatering, but he's not too bad on the eyes either. His hair is blonde and spiky, his smile friendly and open. Even at a party, he's dressed nerdy. There's a pair of glasses hanging out of his shirt pocket. He's holding two drinks and laughing at something his friend has just said.

I go over to him and hold out my hand. "Come with me."

The friend gives him a _you-lucky-bastard_ look and slinks off.

He glances at me dismissively. "No, thanks. I already have a girlfriend."

What?! He can't just brush me off like that. Whoever his girlfriend is, she _can't_ be more attractive than me.

"Come on," I demand impatiently.

He sets down the red plastic cups and folds his arms. "What do you want?"

"I need to show you something." The closer I am to him, the more delicious he smells. I can't wait to sink my teeth into him.

I grab his hand. He digs in his heels. "Whoa, now. My girlfriend's waiting for these drinks."

"My apologies to your girlfriend," I snap, and haul him outside.

"What are you doing—" he asks as I drag him down the street.

I duck into an alley and slam him against a Dumpster. _Clang_. I cover his mouth with my hand. His body is very warm and he smells _divine_.

I bite.

I forget the shoulder and go straight for the vein in his neck. His blood flows hot and unbelievably delicious over my tongue, soothing the burning of thirst. _More. More_.

"Nez," Felix says. "Nez, slow down. You are killing him. I thought you were against killing."

I take a deep, shuddering breath through the nose. His scent is purely _edible_. My hand falls away from his mouth and I pull him closer with both hands, drinking deep.

"Oh God," he murmurs, on the verge of blacking out. "Oh God. Mandy…I'm sorry…"

I can't stop. I don't stop, not until he's limp in my arms and his heart is stuttering.

I step back, realizing what I've done. He falls to the ground, his throat splashed in red.

Felix kneels and puts a hand on the boy's heart. A few moments, then: "He is dead."

"Oh my God," I whisper. "I killed a guy."


	11. 11: Lauren

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_11. Lauren_

_Whoa here she comes_

_Watch out boy, she'll chew you up_

_Whoa here she comes_

_She's a maneater_...

"Mommy, your phone's ringing!"

I fumble in my purse to find it, following the ringtone: Hall and Oates' _Maneater_. Okay, I'll admit it's a dorky song—but for some strange reason, it makes me feel better about myself.

Daddy says he used to sing it to Mom as a joke, back before Drew and I were born. _Whoa here she comes_, he would warble as she walked into the room. She would roll her eyes. _Jim, stop being a goof_.

Think of the devil, and he shall appear: it's my dad on the phone. I flip it open. "Hi, Daddy," I say. "How are you?"

He's quiet for a minute, so I say, "Hello?" again, just in case we lost connection.

Dad clears his throat. "Laurie," he says. "You need to come down here as soon as possible."

"Oh my God," I say, dread paralyzing me. "What happened?" Just from his tone, I know it's bad.

"It's...honey, it's Drew," Dad falters. "He's dead."

"Wh-what?"

"Andrew is dead," Dad repeats. His voice breaks.

I drop my shopping bags. Cans clank on the pavement. There's a roaring in my ears, so loud I can barely hear Dad's next words. As he keeps talking, my knees buckle and I sink to the ground in the middle of the grocery store parking lot.

"His roommate reported him missing last week after he didn't come back to their apartment for two days," Dad forges on bravely. "They found him this morning behind a Dumpster a block away from his place. It looks like a murder—he had severe neck wounds and a lot of blood loss."

"No," I whisper. "No. That's impossible." My little brother, the smart one in the family. Tall and cute, with a head of blonde spikes, a pretty girlfriend, and a prestigious science career ahead of him.

He can't be dead. He _can't_.

But Daddy's voice is breaking, and I think he is crying. Dad never cries, except when he's talking about Mom....

Oh God. Oh God.

My brother is dead.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" Katie asks, looking close to tears herself as she senses something wrong.

I cover the phone with my hand and croak, "Sweetie, Uncle Drew died."

And that's when I really start bawling.

*******

I have no idea how I manage to drive home, but we get there in one piece. Katie helps me carry the bags of groceries and leads me by the hand up the stairs. I can hardly see, I'm crying so hard.

"Whoa, whoa." Jacob's suddenly there, still wearing his grease monkey outfit from work. "Lauren, what happened? Are you okay?"

"My—" I choke on the words. "My brother's dead. He was murdered."

He exhales. "I'm so sorry," he says, and it sounds like he means it. "Here, give me your keys." He unlocks the door for me and takes the groceries from Katie. Together, the two of them drag me into the living room and plant me on the couch.

"Do you need anything?" he asks. But before I can answer, Katie arrives with a glass of water. What would I do without her?

"Just...give me a minute," I sniff, and he and Katie back out of the room. I can hear them talking in low voices in the kitchen; he's helping Katie put the groceries away.

I grab some tissues and blow my nose, taking deep breaths to stop the convulsive sobs. I purposely don't think of Drew; if I do, I'll be off blubbering again.

I put my head between my knees for a moment until I'm sure I've gotten control of myself. Then I get up and go to the bathroom to splash water on my face.

My face is all red and blotchy, of course, but as I dry my face I notice that I'm having an especially good hair day. It seems so unfair. I'm having a good hair day and my brother is dead. He's lying in a morgue somewhere, probably, with people standing over him talking about things like cause of death and whether there'll be forensic evidence....

_No, no, no_. I force the images back, along with the fresh tears welling up.

I shuffle back into the kitchen. Katie's telling Jacob, "The cereal goes in that cupboard up there."

He puts away the box and then turns to me. "Hey. You all right?"

"No," I snap, with more anger than I feel. I slump into a chair and put my face in my hands.

Katie comes over and hugs me. "I love you, Mommy," she says. This is her cure-all for when I'm feeling cruddy: a hug and reminder that _somebody_ on the face of this planet still loves me.

Jacob sits down next to me. "Wanna talk about it?" he asks, with the gruff awkwardness of a guy who isn't used to watching grown women cry.

Strangely enough, I do. The words pour out of me: "Daddy said they found him behind a Dumpster. In an alley. He was almost ready to get his bachelor's. He was going to be a famous biologist—discover important stuff—and someone killed him in an _alley_." I'm weeping again, but the words won't stop. "Someone slashed his throat. He died of blood loss. Why would they do it? Why would they—he was so _adorable_. He used to save little animals when we were kids. He had a girlfriend, Amanda...he hinted last Thanksgiving that he was thinking about proposing. He used to beat up kids that made fun of me, back in grade school when I was fat...he had this old fat cat, Tigger, that he called Panthera Tigris _for short_. He was such a weird kid. The biggest nerd in high school. Never got a single date until he moved to L.A. He...." I'm babbling. I force myself to stop.

"You were close to him?" Jacob asks quietly.

"Yeah," I whisper. "I loved him. He was a pain in the ass most of the time, but I would have walked through fire for the kid."

He reaches out and takes my hand. I let him, because my hands are cold and his are warm. The warmth is oddly comforting.

"I wish I could kill the bastard that did it," I mutter. "I wish I could claw his eyes out with my bare hands."

Jacob stiffens. "Hey Katie, can you go get a box of tissues?"

"Sure," she says, and leaves.

"Sorry," I say. "I probably shouldn't say stuff like that in front of her."

"No," he says, his voice low. "The reason I sent her out is because...oh, geez, I hate to tell you this, but I think I know who—or at least _what_—killed your brother."

I tighten my hand on his. "Tell me," I demand.

"You said he died of blood loss, throat wounds?"

"Yeah."

"Was he completely drained of blood? Was his throat slit with a knife, or ripped, like with teeth?"

"I don't know. Daddy didn't say. Why are you asking me this?" I feel kind of sick now.

"You know the murderer I told you about? The one that ran off with my girlfriend?"

"Yeah...is throat ripping his M.O.?"'

"Kind of." Jacob looks straight into my eyes. "He's a vampire."

"What?" I laugh shortly. "Like one of those goth freaks who think they're immortal?"

"No. Like the real deal. The guy was born, like, two hundred years ago. I'm not kidding." He maintains eye contact until I start to be creeped out. Obviously he wants me to believe this really bad. "We lost their trail in California, so I wouldn't be surprised if they're in L.A."

I pull my hand away. "My brother was not killed by a _vampire_, Jacob. What do you think this is, some kind of sucky horror-murder mystery? This is life, and Drew is _dead_."

Katie re-enters with the box of tissues. "Here, Mommy," she says.

In the ensuing awkward silence, Jacob and I look at each other with identical expressions of stubbornness.

"Are you going down there for his funeral and stuff?" he asks.

I nod. "Daddy told me to come as soon as I can. I'm going to book tickets online."

"Book one extra," he tells me. I raise my eyebrows. "I'm coming with you," he says. "I'll pay you back for the ticket, I swear. But if Nez and Felix really are killing people, I've gotta stop them."

"You are not staying with my dad and me," I say. "You'll have to find a motel."

"I plan to." His gaze is still steady and controlled. I know the look of someone with his mind made up; I've worn it enough times myself.

"Has it occurred to you," I say, in a last-ditch effort to get him to reconsider, "that it might be some other vampire who killed my brother? Assuming vampires exist, anyway, which I am far from convinced that they do."

"It could be," he shrugs. "If it is, I'll just kill them and keep looking."

I laugh. "Are you _serious?_"

He just looks at me.

"You really are completely psycho," I say.


	12. 12: Jacob

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_12. Jacob_

I drive Lauren and Katie to the airport in my Rabbit. On the way there, Lauren insults just about everything about the car, from the fact that air conditioner makes the car smell funky (so? Who needs AC in Washington anyway?), to the stain on the seat (ahem, that was Embry's fault), to the way my radio goes all staticky when I drive under an overpass or through a tunnel.

So it's a huge relief when we finally park in the SeaTac parking garage and I'm no longer stuck in a tiny enclosed space with her.

We haul our baggage to the ticket area and check it in (Lauren's suitcase is a pound overweight. Even when her brother's dead, she _still _manages to overpack. High maintenance much?) and then we settle down to wait for the plane. Of course, we're two hours early.

Lauren sits three seats away from me and sends Katie to sit by me with a book of MadLibs. When Nez was Katie's size, she was a MadLibs whiz due to her dad's homeschooling; Katie, however, hasn't learned the concepts of adjectives, verbs, and nouns yet. So I spend at half an hour teaching them to her.

Once she gets it, though, we have a lot of fun.

"Noun," I say.

Katie does an exaggerated thinking pose. "Meatball," she decides finally, giggling.

I write it down. "Verb."

"Happy…no. No. That's wrong. Verb is what you do to somebody, right?" I nod, and she thinks some more. "Poke!" she cries, and pokes me.

I poke her back. We have a short poking fight, which I win. But after that, she insists on every single verb being "poke."

Occasionally, Lauren contributes an adjective when Katie can't think of one, which proves that she's listening to us (not, as she's trying to pretend, deeply engrossed in a fat paperback entitled _Too Wicked to Tame_, with the standard woman with her dress falling off being embraced by a half-clothed man on the cover). I can't help glancing over at her once in awhile. She's acting just like she always does around me (snappy and mildly disdainful) but I wonder if she's really doing okay. I know I'd be pretty upset if one of my sisters died.

Finally, they start boarding our plane. They board disabled people and people with little kids first, so Lauren sneaks us on using Katie as our excuse.

Katie asks to have the window seat, so Lauren takes the middle and I get the aisle seat. And just like that, we're stuck in close quarters again.

I suddenly wish I'd brought something to do. The only option right now is to read _Too Wicked to Tame_ over Lauren's shoulder—and at the first mention of heaving bosoms, I gross out and have to stop. Who _writes_ that crap, anyway?

I pull a barf bag out of the seatback pocket and start doodling on it with the MadLibs pencil. I draw a stick figure Felix (complete with greased-back hair and oversized fangs) and add a stick wolf eating him. Then I draw a stick Nez clasping her hands and going, "_My hero!_"

I stare at stick Nez for a moment and realize that Felix looks like the hero, fighting off the big bad monster wolf. Annoyed, I scribble her out. Then I erase Felix's head and redraw it three inches away from his body.

"That is incredibly immature," Lauren says, without looking up from her book.

"We all cope with anger in our different ways," I say.

"Yeah, you draw stick figures and throw plates at the wall."

"And you throw darts at old photos and read about heaving white bosoms," I retort.

That makes her look up. "How did you know about the darts?"

"Katie told me." Befriending the little chatterbox had its benefits.

Lauren groans. "Katie!"

"What, Mommy?" Katie asks innocently.

"Never tell Jacob anything, ever."

Katie furrows her brow for a second, looking between us. I wink at her behind Lauren's back. She smiles. "You guys are being silly," she announces.

"Oh, am I?" Lauren asks, giving me a highly sarcastic look.

I crumple up the barf bag and flick through the magazine to find out what in-flight movie they're going to show. It's one I've never even heard of. Sounds boring.

Then they tell us to buckle our seatbelts, and the plane starts moving toward the runway.

As I'm stowing the tray table, I notice Lauren's white knuckles on the armrest. She's still looking at the book, but her eyes are too glazed for her to be reading it.

"Hey, are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says shortly. When I keep looking at her, she slams the book shut and snaps, "I just don't like flying, all right?"

"Do you get airsick?" I sure hope not. Being barfed on once was more than enough.

"No. Just…panicky." She takes a deep breath. "It's the thought of being so high up. I'm…I'm scared of heights."

"Don't they have stuff you can take to make you calm down?"

"I don't know. I just try to avoid flying." We're turning onto the runway now; the engines rev in preparation for takeoff. She takes another gasping breath. I can see the pulse in her neck fluttering. "This part is the worst," she murmurs.

I offer my hand, palm up. She glances at me and then peels her fingers off the armrest and wraps them around mine.

On the other side of her, Katie does the same thing. She takes Katie's hand as well, but I'm pretty sure she isn't squeezing her daughter's hand as hard as she's squeezing mine. It would hurt more if I weren't still virtually unbreakable.

The plane starts to roll, gathering speed and pressing us back into our seats.

"This isn't scary," I say, knowing she's unlikely to believe me. "This is, like, _magic_. We're conquering gravity here. For a race of selfish morons, that's a pretty awesome achievement."

That makes her smile a little bit. Her hand tightens around mine as we lift into the air, and there's that swooping feeling of having left your stomach on the ground. She turns her face away from the window; I crane my head to watch the buildings shrinking and getting smaller.

Katie's looking outside too. "Wow," she says, eyes wide.

"This the first time you've been on a plane, Katie?" I ask.

"I was on one when I was a little baby," she says. "But I don't remember."

Lauren's face is practically buried in my shoulder. "Tell me when we're above the clouds," she mumbles.

I nod and look down at her hand pressing mine. For a moment, I'm struck by the picture: one hand crushing mine, white-knuckled, and the other holding her daughter's in the gentlest grip imaginable.

It's an epiphany moment. For a second, I think I understand something about her.

Then she says, "Gross. Your shirt smells like gasoline," and she's back to the same old Lauren: the one I don't get at all.

*******

Lauren's dad is waiting for us when we land at LAX. Lauren doesn't say anything, just rushes to him and hugs him hard. I hear her sniffling, and her old man looks pretty overcome too.

"Grampa!" Katie says, throwing herself on him. He pulls away from Lauren and hugs her back.

He's young-looking for a grandpa. He has the same pale blonde hair as Lauren, and her green eyes. In fact, he reminds me of a surfer dude, with his shaggy haircut and the close-cropped blonde beard fuzzing on his cheeks. He's wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, but looks like he'd be right at home in one of those loud Hawaiian shirts.

I stand by awkwardly until Lauren thinks to say, "Hey, um, Daddy, this is Jacob Black. Jacob, this is my dad."

Her dad shakes my hand, but he narrows his eyes as he studies me.

"Jacob's my neighbour, Daddy," Lauren says, reading his expression. "He isn't another boyfriend."

"I see," he says, not sounding convinced at all. "I'm Jim Mallory. Nice to meet you, Jacob." By which he means, _If you hurt my daughter, I'll come after you with a shotgun_.

"You too, sir."

"Jacob's not going to be staying with us," Lauren says into the following silence. "We're going to go find him a motel."

"Oh. Okay." Her dad looks somewhat comforted by these arrangements.

We head out to Mr. Mallory's car. It turns out to be an old white Chevy pickup with rust spots. I help Mr. Mallory throw the suitcases in the back and then squeeze into the front. Katie has to sit on Lauren's lap.

"So are we gonna find Jacob a place to stay first, or head home?" Mr. Mallory asks. "It's almost dinnertime…I could make you guys some food first."

I look at Lauren, making sure it's okay with her, and then say, "That'd be great, Mr. Mallory."

He laughs. "That makes me sound so old. Call me Jim."

So we drive back to Jim's apartment. I haul Lauren's suitcase (which feels like it's full of bricks) up three flights of stairs, while Jim carries Katie's Barbie suitcase. It's probably light as a feather compared to the one I'm carrying, but I feel a third-grade-ish sense of relief for not having to carry the pink bag.

We have Campbell's soup for dinner, which Lauren heats up in Jim's ill-used kitchen. You can kind of tell the guy is a widower; there aren't any "Home Sweet Home" signs on the wall, and all his mismatched dishes are chipped or stained in some way. A lot of them are sitting in the sink waiting to be washed. His kitchen pretty much looks like mine, in other words, except my dishes match because Alice Cullen bought them for me.

Jim's obviously made an effort to clean the place up for his family's arrival. I discover a Playboy sticking out from under the couch cushions (I shove it back under—some things a girl never needs to know about her dad), a bag of crushed chips behind a throw pillow, and a faint smell of cigarette smoke hanging in the air despite the obvious attempts to Lysol it away.

Dinner's pretty bleak. The only conversation occurs when Lauren asks her dad about the funeral. It's two days from now, he tells her with a blank face.

I wonder if the killer will attend the funeral. Felix probably wouldn't; he's killed enough humans that their death means nothing to him. But if Nez killed Drew, she would want to come. She would feel obligated. She would be guilty.

Even then, she might not come. She might run as far and fast as she could. She might have done so already.

But I have to look for her. I have to know if my sweet Nessie is a killer.

*******

Lauren leaves Katie playing Go Fish with her grampa, and drives me to the nearest motel in Jim's pickup.

"I learned to drive in this car," she reminisces. "I think I even bashed in a few mailboxes with it. On accident, of course," she adds, glancing at me.

"Suuuure," I say, grinning.

She sticks around while I pay for the room a couple nights in advance and get my key. I lift my suitcase out of the back and pause to look at her.

"I'll be at the funeral," I say. "'Til then I'm gonna do some snooping around and see what I can find out."

She nods. "Later."

I turn to go.

"Hey, wait!"

I look back and she's looking at me with these utterly vulnerable eyes. "Jacob?" she says, making it a question. "Do you want to go out for coffee or something?"

"Right now? It's a little late for coffee."

"Oh yeah." She brings her hand up to her mouth and starts biting her thumbnail. I realize she's actually _nervous_ and look around to make sure the apocalypse isn't imminent.

"There's a McDonalds like a block away," I suggest. "French fries?"

"Okay," she says. "But I won't actually eat them. They're _so_ fattening."

I laugh. Normal Lauren is back again.

I put my suitcase in the room and then get back in the truck.

The McDonalds is empty, except for one guy in the back corner. I order a large fries, and Lauren orders a McFlurry, which she swears isn't as bad for you as the French fries (though I kind of doubt it).

We sit in a booth and stare at each other across the table.

"So did you have something you wanted to talk about?" I ask finally, chewing on a ketchup-coated fry.

"Not really." She doesn't elaborate.

"I have some theories about how to find Nez and Felix," I say, and tell her about how I think Nez will be at the funeral…that is, if she hasn't skipped town already. "Think I'll do some crime scene investigation, meanwhile. Can you get me the address of the alley he was found in?"

"Yeah. Sure."

What's with her? She's never this quiet. Usually she'd be talking my ear off, saying I chewed too loudly or something. "Are you okay?" I ask.

Her eyes flick down and back up. "It's nothing…you have ketchup on your face, by the way."

I reach for a napkin. As I lean forward, her hand darts out and rubs away the smear of red.

Her fingers are chilly from the ice cream. Her nails are long and scrape my cheek lightly. She pulls away and wipes her finger on a napkin, her pale cheeks tinged pink.

I stare at her, feeling the touch over and over. Whoa. There is no freakin' way—

She likes me. Is attracted to me. The realization shocks me almost as much as her icy fingers. That's why she's always so rude to me. She's rude to guys she likes—maybe to scare them off.

But I don't scare off.

And the worst part of it is I think I like her too. It's a confusing kind of like, mixed up with fear that she'll reject me like Bella and Nez did, and guilt because I should be loving Nez, not her, and the basic, raw attraction which, now that I think of it, is probably the reason I kept coming back to her all along, despite her rudeness.

She's beautiful. She's sad and hurt and angry and the sexiest woman I know.

I reach for her hand. She pulls it away.

I smirk and reach out under the table, tangling my sneakered foot with hers.

Our eyes meet. The corner of her mouth curves up and she kicks off her flip-flop, and her cold toes tickle my skin.

"Let's go," I say hoarsely.

She nods and we stand up. She picks up the tray with our food on it and goes to throw it away. I come up behind her, calculating, and right on cue she turns around and bumps smack into me.

I kiss her.

She throws herself into the kiss, arms winding around me, digging her fingers into my scalp. My hair's starting to grow out again now that I haven't been phasing, and she seems fascinated with it, alternately running her hands through it and trying to yank it out of my scalp.

She's the first girl I've kissed, I realize, who really, truly _wants_ me to kiss her.

The guy at the cash register clears his throat, and I realize we're still standing in a public place. Oops. With difficulty and some reluctance I separate myself from her.

"I don't even _like_ you," she says, her eyes pleading.

I can't think of anything to say. No, that's not entirely true; I just don't want to say what I feel, not yet. Because what I feel is, _I'm falling in love with you. Not because you're my imprint. Not because your future kid is going to be my imprint. Just because you're you and you're beautiful and you need me_.

"Come with me," I say instead, and lead her back to the truck and to my motel room.

*******

She laughs when she realizes I'm a virgin. It's the painful truth—I've spent the last ten years of my life being in love with girls who either don't reciprocate, or who are too young to get physical.

She may be way more experienced than me, but she still finds it in her to be shy. Caring about me makes her vulnerable—I now have the power to hurt her, and she knows I know it.

"I won't hurt you," I promise, and her old self flares up and dares me to try.

At the climax I feel a terrible pain along with the pleasure, and for a moment I think I see myself staring back at me with wolf eyes. Then the vision's gone and I sink onto the motel pillows, feeling complete and yet strangely empty.

As Lauren drifts off to sleep in my arms, I realize what has happened.

The spirit wolf has left me. I'm not a werewolf anymore.

I'm human.


	13. 13: Lauren, Jacob, Edward, Nez

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_13. Lauren_

I wake up smiling the next morning, and for a second I have no idea why.

Then I roll over and see _him_, and I realize we're both naked, and then I remember.

_Oh. My. God_.

What have I done?

Well, I know _who_ I've done, and I can't quite repress how amazing it felt, but…but…

I groan, rubbing my eyes, running my fingers through my crazy morning hair. This can't be happening. I have enough crap to deal with. Drew's funeral. Probably getting fired from my job when I get back home, because Michael thinks I'm making up the "my brother died" story. My little girl…who, oh God, doesn't know where I am, and neither does my dad!

I roll out of bed, find my clothes, put them on, and pull my cell phone out of my coat pocket.

"'Lo." My dad sounds like he's just woken up.

"Daddy?"

"Laurie. Thank God." He breathes a relieved sigh into the phone. "Honey, I was so worried. What happened?"

"I, um." I glance at Jacob, who's snoring lightly, arm outflung. "I sort of spent the night with Jacob. I didn't mean to, believe me, or I would've called."

Dad is quiet, then he says, "That boy didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, Daddy. I wanted to," I say, blushing to admit it.

"Okay then," he says gruffly. "Honey, I hope you don't make any decisions you'll regret."

"Me too," I mutter. "By the way, can you not tell Katie about this? She doesn't need to know."

"Right. Wasn't planning to," he says. A pause, then: "Did you two use protection?"

I turn even redder. "Daddy!"

"Sweetheart, you know you can't deal with another kid right now."

"Yes, we did," I say, rolling my eyes. Good thing I still keep extra condoms in my purse, in case of emergency.

"Okay then. Well, uh, you're coming back soon?"

"Yeah," I say. "See you soon, Daddy. Bye."

As I hang up, I see that Jacob has woken up.

I fold my arms and face him. "Look, I'd like to pretend that last night never happened, but it did," I say. "And it can't happen again."

"You're worried what Katie will think," he guesses.

"Yeah," I say. "I haven't introduced her to my boyfriends before. She knows you. This is different. If we start…well…you know…you're going to end up being a father figure, and when we break up eventually, it'll hurt her bad. It'll be better for all of us if we just stay friends."

He gets out of bed and starts dressing slowly. "So…what makes you so sure we're going to break up?" he wants to know.

"It always happens." I turn away and part the curtains with one hand, peeking out the window.

"What if I'm different?"

"You're a male, aren't you?" I smile sardonically. "You're all the same. Even if you think you're in love, well, it fades."

He puts on his shirt. "Fine. If that's how you want it to be, I'll respect that." He sits back down on the bed, and for a second he looks kind of sad.

Then he snaps out of it and fishes out one of his socks from the rumpled covers, putting it on. "Anyway, we've got stuff to do. Up for some crime scene investigation?"

*******

_13.25. Jacob_

I don't know what I expected from her. I mean, I didn't think she was going to want to marry me and have a bunch of kids (and a house and some cats and maybe a Dachsund) right away. But, damn, rejection hurt.

It wasn't like she knew what I'd just given up for her. Because of her. The wolf had been on its way out, true, but loving her (Physically? Emotionally? Both? Who cares?) was kind of its last straw. For a few amazing hours she'd been the only thing in my world, and my world was that hotel bed. I'd let her be more important than my imprint. I'd let her be more important than hunting vampires.

So I can't really blame my wolf for being like, "Screw you, Jacob," and leaving.

At least Lauren is still nearby, and still single. She hasn't dumped me for a vampire. She dumped me in favour of her daughter, which I could respect. And hey, I can wait. Katie'll grow up eventually, and once she leaves home, Lauren will be out of excuses.

We stop by her dad's house. She can't meet her dad's eyes, but she kisses Katie, changes clothes, and finds out the address of the alley where Drew was found. Then we're off again.

The alley looks pretty normal. Near an apartment complex. There's a Dumpster, a couple trash cans, and an abandoned couch with springs sticking out. Lots of beer bottles and garbage. Pretty typical alley junk.

I see Lauren close her eyes and wonder if she's trying to commune with Drew's ghost or something. I see her lips move and realize that she _is_. I'd laugh, but if I did she'd probably kill me and there would be another body for someone to find in the Dumpster.

"He's not here," I say gently.

Her eyes snap open. "What are you talking about?"

"Look, I know something about paranormal stuff," I say. "Vampires, yeah, they exist. Werewolves? Yep. But there's no such thing as ghosts."

She blushes. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yeah, you do, but it doesn't matter." I sigh. "I just realized coming here is useless anyway."

"Why?" she asks snarkily. "Lost your fingerprint powder?"

"Just my inhuman sense of smell," I mutter. Without my werewolf abilities, I'm as good a tracker as your average human—so basically, I really suck.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

I head back to the truck. She follows. "So werewolves exist too?" she asks tentatively.

_Damn, she caught that_. "Yeah."

"Do you know any?"

"Yeah, I know nine of 'em."

She stares. "Are you being sarcastic?"

"Want to know how many vampires I know?" I say. "Here's a hint: it's a lot more than nine."

Lauren shakes her head. "You're so weird sometimes, Jacob. I can never tell whether you're joking or not."

"You can pretend I'm joking if it makes you feel better," I say, buckling my seatbelt. I'm not indestructible anymore.

She starts the engine. "So what now?"

I sigh. "I don't know."

"But yesterday you had a plan and stuff!"

"Things have changed since yesterday," I say, meeting her eyes. "A _lot_ of things."

She looks away and I see her cheeks redden.

As she backs out of the alley, I think, _Things _have_ changed_. I can't fight Nez and Felix alone anymore. I'm human. I'm what they think of as _food_.

It's time to call in the troops.

"Can I borrow your cell?" I ask Lauren, and when she hands it over, I dial Edward Cullen's phone number.

*******

_13.5. Edward_

"Edward," Alice cries, racing into my house.

"What?" I ask, seconds before I see it in her mind.

"Something is wrong," I say, my mind still processing the vision. _What's wrong with this picture?_ Answer: she has never seen Jacob before. And she's seeing him now. Seeing him fighting Felix…and losing.

"Tell me about it," she sighs.

"Jacob's presence changes everything," I murmur, working out the message of her vision. "They were going to get away, but when they meet him…." I replay the vision.

"They're going to kill him," she finishes quietly. "And it'll destroy Nez."

I look into her eyes. "Can we get there in time to save him? To stop Nez?"

She concentrates, pictures flying through her head. "If we go now."

I make a snap decision. "Get Bella. Pack stuff," I say. "We're going. My daughter is not going to kill her soul mate if I have anything to say about it."

The words are hardly out of my mouth when the phone rings.

*******

_13.75. Nez_

"The tracker is close," Felix says. "He is going to find us."

"I have to go to this funeral," I insist. "Felix, I killed this guy. I'm half human. I'm not a killer like you!"

"Predator," he says. "Not killer. Please do not take out your anger on me, Nez. You don't mean it."

I press my face into the hotel pillow. "Sorry, Felix." I reach for him, make skin contact: _guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt taste of blood guilt guilt guilt I am part human I killed a man guilt guilt_.

He pulls away, his face grave. He understands.

"I have to go," I whisper. "I have to tell him I'm sorry."


	14. 14: Lauren, Jacob

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_14. Lauren_

I sleep alone in Daddy's guest room the next night. I do a lot more crying without someone else in the room, I discover—I cry when I set out the black-and-white skirt I'm going to wear to Drew's funeral, I cry when I'm brushing my teeth and see Drew's old contacts (the ones he never wore—and never will again) in the medicine cabinet, I cry when I find, in a box in the closet, the old posters Drew didn't take with him to college.

The guest room hasn't been Drew's room for several years, not since he moved to the UCLA dorm in his first year of college. Still, it reminds me painfully of him.

It's futile to try to stop the tears, so at last I just fall asleep crying.

I wake up feeling somewhat less emotional. Nice dreams, I guess, although I don't remember them. I stretch, shuffle into the bathroom for a quick shower, and pull my hair back in a silver clip. Dress in church clothes. The skirt's a little too small around the waist—apparently I gained weight since I last wore it—but it's still knee-length.

Then Katie wakes up, and I help her get ready too. Navy blue dress, sandals, white headband. Daddy comes in dressed in a suit, and we eat breakfast in silence.

On the way, we have to stop and pick up Jacob. This makes Daddy's truck crowded, so I let Katie sit on my lap. She proceeds to plant her sandaled feet comfortably in Jacob's lap. She smiles hesitantly at him, and he grins back. I feel her relax and realize she's so tense because she's scared of the way Dad and I have been going through the day grim and silent. I'm jealous of how easily he can smile, and the way he has of cheering Katie up when I can't.

I walk into the funeral home clutching Katie's hand tightly. Her other hand is firmly wrapped around Jacob's. I realize we look like a family, but that doesn't scare me nearly as much as the prospect of seeing Drew lying in a coffin.

Daddy has already been to see him—he had to identify him, of course—but he looks pale all the same. Like he's gotten ten years older since we left home.

With my free hand, I touch his shoulder. He smiles and takes a deep breath, walking up to the receptionist.

"Hi," he murmurs. "We're here for the viewing…we're family. Drew Mallory."

"Oh, of course," the lady says. "This way."

She leads us to a room filled with flowers, including a huge arrangement from his classmates. The smell of the place is sickly sweet—mostly flowers and perfume, but something chemical and dead mixed in. It makes my throat burn. Behind all the flowers, there's a wooden box, half of the lid standing open….

"Oh my God," I whisper, letting go of Katie to cover my face. "I don't think I can do this."

Daddy moves toward me, but Jacob gets there first. His warm hands on my shoulders. "Come on," he says, his voice sounding a little more gravelly than normal. "Be strong for Katie," he whispers in my ear.

I close my eyes tight, and when I open them, I'm looking down into the casket.

He doesn't look like he's sleeping. I know that's what people say about their dead relatives, but it's a lie. His face is the wrong shape. It's too slack, and his cheekbones stick out too much. They've made him up so he's not totally pale, but the color won't blend into his face—it cakes there like another layer of skin, a death-mask hiding the truth.

"You can touch him if you want, Laurie." Daddy's right next to me, too, holding Katie in his arms so she can see. She's gazing at Drew's face solemnly, no hint of tears, just calm and a little unsure of what all this means.

I put my hand over Drew's where they're folded on his chest.

His skin feels cool and dead. _Wrong_. I jerk my hand away. Jacob's hands tighten, and I turn to bury my face in his shoulder.

"Grampa?" Katie asks. "Is Uncle Drew in heaven now?"

"Yeah, honey," Daddy says, clearing his throat. "I'm sure God wouldn't keep him out."

"Hi, Mr. Mallory."

We turn. Standing in the doorway is Drew's girlfriend Amanda. Last time I met her she was bubbly and cheerful—it's hard to equate that memory of her with the way she looks now, wearing a black skirt suit and heels that she probably borrowed from her mom.

"Hi, Mandy," Daddy says. "Have you, uh, seen…him yet?"

She nods. "I visited yesterday. Hi, Lauren. Hey, Katie—wow, you've gotten so big!"

"Mandy, this is my friend Jacob," I say. "Jacob, Mandy. She's—she was Drew's girlfriend."

He nods politely, and she says, "Hey."

An awkward silence follows, into which Daddy clears his throat and says, "We should probably go out and greet people as they come in. Thank 'em for coming and stuff."

"Right," I say, and follow him out. He sets Katie down and she comes over to cling to my arm. She may not have cried, but I know seeing a dead person has upset her.

"You know what?" I mutter. "I think Katie and me should go have some quiet time."

"Okay," Dad says. "I don't think there's anyone in the family section. Let me know if you need something, honey."

I nod and we head into the dim family section, where I sink into a chair and pull Katie into a hug.

*******

_14.5. Jacob_

After Lauren leaves, I find a shadowy corner to hide in and keep an eye on the door. This way, I'll see everyone who comes in. That includes Nez or Felix (or even Edward, who said he was on his way).

Ten minutes go by. Twenty. Half an hour. More and more people start showing up—lots of college kids, but also some old guys that look like friends of Jim Mallory.

Forty-five minutes. I yawn and glance at the wall clock again. My funeral suit itches. I'm gonna miss having an excuse to walk around half-naked.

The funeral service starts. I know I should go inside—be there for Lauren—but I can't miss Nez. Besides, I rationalize, they're in the family section, and I'm not family. I never even met the guy. I'm sure he was nice, awesome even. But right now, his killer is more important to me than the glowing, choked-up words being spoken over his dead body.

I expect to smell them before they show up. I'm sure I'll be ready. But when they actually show up, I'm far from prepared.

They sneak in ten minutes late, Nez dressed in a designer skirt that Alice probably bought her, Felix wearing a ski mask and a hoodie. I don't realize it's them for a moment, so when I do, I jump a mile.

They don't see me. Don't even notice me. I stand up slowly, my eyes locked on Nez's face.

She looks good. I haven't seen her since the day she introduced Felix to Edward and Bella as her boyfriend, but I immediately see the difference. Her hair's grown out a little, her bronze roots showing through the black hair dye. Her skin is glowing more than ever, not just from the sun. She's serious now, little worry lines wrinkling on her forehead, but I can tell she's not unhappy with her life. She actually loves Felix. It's obvious in the way she smiles as she turns back to grab his hand (which is firmly stuck in the pocket of his hoodie) for comfort.

No idea whether he loves her back. And frankly I don't even care.

"Renesmee Cullen," I say, folding my arms across my chest. She gasps and turns to face me, her mouth opening in shock. "You are in _so_ much trouble."


	15. 15: Nez

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_15. Nez_

Oh. My. God.

Jake is here. Here in California, in this funeral home, giving me the stink-eye from across the lobby.

"What are you doing here?" I demand. _I thought Alice said we'd get away! But if Jake found me—we're going to have to fight him—oh God..._.

"I'm attending this funeral to support a good friend of mine. My neighbour," he says. "Her brother got killed and stuffed behind a Dumpster in an alley. They don't have any suspects yet, but I have a few."

I swallow hard. He looks really, really mad. I can't see a trace of his love for me in his face. Usually it's clearly evident, but now it's hidden under his stern glare.

"I'm sorry, Jake," I say, trying to squeeze out a few tears to maybe gain some sympathy. "Really I am. I didn't mean to kill the human, honestly—I was just going to take a little blood—but he tasted so _good!_"

Felix backs me up, squeezing my hand. "She went into a frenzy," he tells Jacob. "It wasn't her fault, dog. Don't blame her."

"I'm not. I'm blaming _you_." He looks immovable as stone, his jaw jutting angrily as he glares at my boyfriend. "You're the one who taught her all the tricks of the trade, right, leech? Yeah? Well, then it's your damn fault."

"She wished it. I could not refuse her," Felix says, taking his hand out of his pocket to pull me closer and wrap a protective arm around my waist.

Jacob begins to walk toward us. "Sometimes Nez needs to have people refuse her," he growls. "It's good for her. She's only seven, you know. If you give little girls everything they want, you'll spoil 'em."

My jaw drops. How could he be so mean? He's never treated me like a child, not even when I _was_ one. "Jacob!" I protest, wounded. "What's wrong with you? You're never this mean to me. I'm your _imprint!_"

But he's shaking his head. "Not anymore," he says simply.

And that's when his scent hits me.

The cloying perfume of the funeral home has masked it, but now he's closer and it's unmistakable. He doesn't smell like a werewolf anymore—that bitterly pungent, comforting wet-dog smell that defined my childhood.

He smells like _food_.

My throat begins to burn as I inhale. His is not the most irresistible blood I've ever smelled. He still smells faintly bitter. I never could drink his blood when I bit him as a child—it tasted gross, like an animal. Worse, even. But now...now I _want_ to taste it, to savor it like fine wine. (Even though I think wine tastes disgusting.)

I press Felix's hand harder, trying to get control of myself.

"How—? This is impossible," I mutter. "How can you be human?"

"I pissed off my spirit wolf," he says with a careless shrug. "So it went away. Made it a hell of a lot more difficult to track you guys, I have to say."

That's when the human woman leaves the service and comes over.

"Can you take this outside?" she mutters. "The whole hall can hear you guys talking out here...."

Jake looks at her and says, "Sorry," and just with that simple eye contact, something dawns on me. I look back and forth between them, inhaling. My vamp senses aren't as good as Felix's, but I can smell what they're trying to hide—they completely _reek_ of each other. Sometime within the past week, they've been banging.

Geez! Didn't take him too long to get over me, did it?

The woman looks at me. She's white-blonde (bleached, no doubt) and has a kind of pointy face that I, for one, don't think is attractive at _all_. "Oh my God," she says. "It's them, isn't it? This is your psycho serial killer dude and your ex-girlfriend."

"Yep," Jacob says. I narrow my eyes. What has he been telling her?

She glares at me for a second, trying to intimidate me with her bitchiness probably. Yeah right. Two can play that game. I glare right back.

She switches her attention to Felix. "He plays the serial killer part well," she says. "Even dresses up in traditional costume. Classy."

"Bite me," I say, since Felix is too Italian to say it for himself.

"With pleasure." But it's not me she goes for—it's Felix. She digs her fingers into his marble neck, or tries to before he flicks her off like a fly. She skids across the floor on her back, winded and—I notice smugly—sporting a whole bunch of broken fingernails. _Take that, you bleached-out slut_.

Jake runs over to her and helps her sit up, a disgusting amount of concern in his expression. I know I shouldn't be jealous—I mean, I did dump the guy—but why did he have to pick this..._woman_...out of all the people in the world?

Well, he did say she was his neighbour. Maybe she was just really convenient. Yeah, probably. But that didn't explain how he actually seemed to _care_ about her.

He's muttering in her ear, but I can hear them easily. He's saying, "Don't fight them. Leave this to me."

"But that guy—" she protests.

"Is a vampire. Like I told you. Don't mess with him."

So he told her all about us, hmm? What happened to the old wolf treaty about how he wasn't supposed to expose us?

Oh, right. He wasn't a wolf anymore.

"He HIT me," she says, sounding very offended.

"So I'll hit him back," Jacob assures her.

I laugh. "Uh, Jake, aren't you forgetting you're not a werewolf anymore? You'll break every bone in your arm."

"Maybe," says Jake, "but he hit a lady, and this is about honor now." He cracks his knuckles. "What do you say we take this outside?"

"No!" I say. If Felix fights Jake, he'll kill him. "Time out, okay? We didn't come to fight you."

"Oh? Then why _did_ you come?"

"To pay my last respects to the dead," I say, rolling my eyes. "Duh. Why else would I come to a human funeral?"

"Oh my God," the blonde says, staring at me. "It wasn't psycho serial killer dude who killed Drew, was it? It was _you_."

"Yes," Jake answers for me.

She turns to him. "You _dated_ a _vampire?_"

"Half-vampire," he says. "It's complicated. I sort of had to."

"Because you were a werewolf?"

He freezes. "How—"

"She said, 'You're not a werewolf _anymore_.'"

"Oh," he says weakly. "Uh, yeah, well, I guess I was one. Up until the other night. I'll explain it all later."

"Right," she says, taking a deep breath. "Right now we're just going to take out skinny-bad-dye-job and psycho-serial-killer."

I flip her off.

"There will be no _taking out_," Jake says. "Her mom is my best friend, and she'll probably shoot me if I hurt her 'sweet widdle baby'." He does heavily sarcastic finger quotes.

"Darn. Guess I brought Daddy's shotgun for nothing then."

"Well, if you're not going to kill us, let us do this funeral thing and go," I say.

"Uh, how 'bout not," Jake says. "You're not getting away this time, Miss Nessie. You're going home."

"I don't think so," I say, heading for the door.

He moves to block it. "Nez, think about this," he says, meeting my eyes. "This life is turning you into a murderer."

"Pre-da-tor," I enunciate, "_not_ murderer, thank you very much. There's a difference. We just happen to be above humans on the food chain, is all. Like a cougar is above a deer."

"Oh really?" he says. "Is that what the Italian Stallion's been telling you?"

"Don't be mean, Jake." I frown. "It's a choice I get to make for myself. My parents are vegetarians, I'm not. They raised me on tofu, but I want _steak_."

"You're not eating people," he says flatly. "Not while I can stop you."

"I don't even have to kill them! I have no venom!"

"But you do kill sometimes," he argues. "You slip up! You make mistakes! And that's why I'm stopping you."

"I really don't want to hurt you," I say, "but I will if you don't get out of the way."

"Not if I hurt you first!" That from Blondie, who's on her feet again. She grabs a fistful of my hair—which _hurts_—and yanks hard. "You _killed_ my _brother_! You _bitch!_ I'll _kill _you!"

I snarl and latch my hands around her throat. Her hold weakens and she chokes.

Jacob grabs me from behind. "Don't touch her!" he yells, prying my hands apart. He's so weak now, it's laughable—but somehow he loosens my hold anyway.

I turn to face him—his arms are half around me still, and I look into his eyes. "She made you stop loving me," I whisper, and punch him in the face.

Somehow I forget he's human now, and put a vampire's force behind the punch. He falls back onto the ornate doors, and I realize instantly what a mistake I've made as blood starts trickling from his lip. He's bitten through it, and is now wincing and struggling to stand upright again.

"_You _made me stop loving you," he growls painfully. His whole mouth is probably going to be bruised.

But I can hardly think anymore—the scent of his blood is too overpoweringly _yummy_.

He sees the look in my eyes and raises a hand to fend me off. "Oh HELL no. Don't even—Nez Cullen, if you bite me, I swear to God I'll—"

I put my arms around his neck and kiss him.

It's like five million times better than our last kiss, because his blood is sweet and warm and flowing freely on my tongue. He tries to wince away, his hands battering at my chest (and accidentally getting him to second base—last time I'll ever let him do _that_), but I don't let him go.

I hear Blondie gasping in outrage—hear Felix saying, "Nez, be careful"—but I'm lost already. The taste of human blood is so good, and I haven't hunted in _days_, not since I accidentally killed Blondie's brother.

"Mmm," I sigh against his mouth, sinking my teeth in to deepen the cut.

He makes a noise of pain and protest, trying harder to push me away. I dig my nails into his shoulders. _Stop resisting. That only makes it better_.

His lip isn't enough. I pull away, give him a real kiss—his lip is fountaining red, and he'll probably have a scar if he lives—and then I sink my teeth into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, cradling his head with one hand.

"Stop it," he pleads. "Nez, get off, this is so _gross_. Please, Nez, stop!"

"Control," Felix warns. "Careful, Nez, you're going to kill this one too—"

"Your name is Nez?" Blondie laughs. "Isn't that French for _nostril?_"

The doors open behind us, and all of a sudden I feel a great force yanking me back from Jacob. My captor pins my arms behind my back and says, "Renesmee, I am very, very disappointed in you."

I squirm, trying to look back. "_Dad?_"

"And Mom," says my mother, breezing in after him. "Oh—" she stops breathing, putting a hand to her nose. "Jacob," she squeaks out, "you smell _good_."

"Don't sound so surprised, Bella," he mutters as she uses the sleeve of her hooded jacket to put pressure on his bleeding neck.

Aunt Alice takes off her sunglasses and says, "Edward, I'll take Nez. You keep an eye on Felix. I don't want him running off before we can sit down and have a nice long chat."

Dad drops my arms, and I know it's futile to run for it. Aunt Alice is against us now. There's no way we're getting away.

"I thought you said we'd escape," I cry.

"That was before I could see Jacob's part in this," she says solemnly. "He was a werewolf then...but once he turned human everything changed."

"She was going to kill me, wasn't she?" Jake says suddenly. "She wasn't going to stop."

Aunt Alice just looks away.

"Jake, I'm so sorry," I say. But one look at his face, and I know it's over. He's never going to love or trust me again.

"Come on, Jake," Mom says. "There's a first aid kit in the car. Carlisle said we'd probably need it." She takes him outside, risking exposure of her sparkling hands to keep pressure on his shoulder. Blondie follows him, but he tells her to go back into the funeral. "Your brother's more important than me," he says.

Gag.

Alice makes us wait around for another half an hour. I can't understand why, until the doors open and a hooded figure enters: the Volturi tracker. He's come for Felix.

"No!" Felix hisses. "I will not go back. I will not leave Nez."

"That's very noble of you," Dad says, "but unfortunately Nez is going to be grounded for the next ten years, so you won't be able to see her very often. You might as well go back and be Aro's lapdog. If you really love her, you can wait for her."

"Nez—" Felix reaches for me.

"Don't go!" I run to him and hug him tightly, sending him images of us together, the way I feel when we—

"Ti amo," he says softly, out loud. "Wait for me, please. I will return for you ten years from today. They cannot stop me."

I kiss him, or try to, but I kind of miss and get a mouthful of his ski mask. And then the tracker drags him out into the sunlight. The last thing I see is his hand, outstretched, sparkling exquisitely in the bright Los Angeles sun.


	16. 16: Jacob

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_16. Jacob_

That night, I sprawl on my motel room bed and wish the Tylenol I took to dull the pain of my bruised face and bitten neck would kick in already.

Today has been really, really _weird_.

Seeing Nez again, with human eyes rather than wolf eyes, was the strangest thing. See, when it left, the wolf took most of the imprint's strength with it. I still _like_ her, I guess, but in the way you grudgingly like your annoying teenybopper niece who thinks she's all that.

But _love_ her? Uh, no way. My thoughts were more along the lines of, _This is my supposed soul mate? God, what was my spirit wolf drinking?_

Yeah, she's beautiful and all that (or would be if she'd stop putting on so much makeup and just let her hair be its natural color) but come on. I _changed_ her _diapers_.

I called Sam, wanting to know what's up. He's the only other wolf so far to have given up phasing, and he still worships the ground Emily walks on.

He was all, "Gosh, I don't know, Jacob."

Thanks for all your help, dude.

But after we talked it through for awhile, we came up with a theory: maybe, in normal cases, by the time the wolf leaves, _real_ love has had a chance to grow on its own, fuelled by the imprint but ultimately unrelated to it.

Only, in mine and Nez's case, it didn't happen. She was a little kid at first, so I loved her like you love a little kid. Then, practically the second she was available to be something more, she dumped me and went off with some other guy. So, Sam theorized, I still love her like a little kid—thus the "niece" analogy. Romantic love just didn't have a chance.

Well, whatever the truth behind this bizarre situation, I'm just glad to be rid of my feelings for Nez. They only made me all achy-breaky-heart anyway. Plus it's completely obvious she still adores Felix. I saw him getting dragged off, looking like the tracker was dragging him to the torture chamber instead of back to the mother country (although maybe he was—I don't know _what_ those freaky Volturi vamps get up to), and I have to admit, it looks like he loves her too.

I heave a sigh. Right then. That effectively severs about every single one of my ties with my former life. Guess I'm a lone wolf now.

I'm sniggering to myself at the lame pun when somebody knocks on my door.

"Comin'." I drag myself upright and look through the peephole. It's Lauren. What's _she_ doing here?

I open the door. "Uh, hi."

"Hi. Can I come in?" She's still wearing her funeral clothes, though they're rather dishevelled by now, and I notice a bruise blossoming on her forearm.

"Yeah, sure." I let her in and close the door. Then I flop back on my bed, wincing as the bandage on my neck shifts and rubs against the bite.

She frowns, coming to sit by me. "You look pretty beat up."

"No, really?" I say. It doesn't quite come out as sarcastically as I meant it to; my lip is about the size of a house right now and sarcasm _hurts_.

I turn my head to look at her. "So, you're, um...here. In my motel room. Sitting...on my bed. What are you, uh, _doing_ here?"

She rolls her eyes. "Not _you_, in case that's what you're trying to get at. You promised me an explanation. I'd like it now."

"Oh. Right." I reluctantly sit upright. "So what would you like to know?"

"Let's start with the werewolf part," she says, bringing her feet up to sit cross-legged facing me. "So up until a few nights ago you were one? Was that why you threw all your plates at the wall?"

She's way, _way_ too smart. "Yeah," I say. "Yeah, but I haven't phased—I mean, you know, changed into wolf form—in months. Not since before I moved to Seattle. That's part of why I stopped being one."

"Well, that's a relief," she mutters. "What's it like? Do you turn into a crazed monster, like on TV?"

"No!" I say quickly, and tell her some of the basics of the Quileute wolf legend, and how being a shapeshifter is different because we can choose when to phase, and retain our human minds when we do so.

"It sounds...beautiful," she says with some surprise.

I nod. "It was scary and painful and hella inconvenient sometimes, but yeah, certain parts of it _were_ beautiful. Speed, strength, super-fast healing...and being able to run around in the dead of winter without any clothes on."

"What?"

"I ran a constant temperature," I explain, laughing (painfully) at her expression.

"I thought you seemed...a bit warm...you know, when we...." She stopped short, looking away with a furrowed brow, and I thought, _oh no, here it comes_.

"You were a werewolf then," she said slowly. "Weren't you? And then after...you weren't."

I exhale. "Yeah."

"Did...that...what we did, did it have anything to do with you not being a werewolf anymore?"

I meet her eyes. "Yeah, it did."

"So, what, like you can't have sex if you're a werewolf?" She blushed despite her casual tone. "And if you do, it just goes away?"

"No!" God, she thought we were a bunch of virgins running around La Push or something. Ha. She obviously hadn't ever listened in on Sam's thoughts...or Paul's...or even Jared's. "No, that's unrelated. What happened was...." and I carefully explain my imprint with Nez, and how betraying it by sleeping with her had triggered my wolf's exit.

She's quiet for a long time after I finish. Then she says softly, "You liked me more than your _soul mate?_"

"Uh...well, pretty much, yeah." I want to add, "Can you blame me?" but I figure Nez has been insulted enough for one day.

Lauren laughs nervously and puts one hand up to her face. "Wow. I guess I'm flattered. Just...wow."

She looks up, and I see that her green eyes are brightened by tears.

I reach out involuntarily. "Hey, are you—did I say something?"

She shakes her head, sniffling. "I'm just overemotional because of the funeral. Pretend like you never saw this."

I wait. She takes a couple of deep breaths.

"It's just...you know, a lot of people make a big fuss over finding their soul mate, and you have a way to know _for sure_, and you just _let_ her go off with some other guy. And you decide you like me _instead_ of her." She shakes her head again, some blonde strands of hair coming out of their clip. "I don't know. It's weird, is all."

"Nez and I weren't right for each other," I say, feeling awkward because I've made her cry.

She grins, her eyes still watery. "This is your supposed _soul mate_—" she does finger quotes—"we're talking about. And you say you're not right for each other?"

"Yeah, well." I shrug. "I never was a fan of following rules."

She sniffles again and pulls out a tissue. After she's done wiping her eyes and nose, she looks back at me and says, "You know what, Jacob Black, I think I misjudged you."

"How so?"

"Never mind." She sighs.

"Oh, what, you mean the part where you basically told me I'm another guy just like your jerky ex, and as soon as I get bored of you I'll leave?"

Her eyes shift uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I'm not that kind of guy," I say firmly. "I know I might seem kinda bipolar or something, what with throwing plates and knowing vampires and ditching my imprint for another woman, but you wanna know something?"

I pause until she meets my eyes and says, "Okay, what?"

"The thing about spirit wolves...they tend to mate for life." I hold her gaze, determined to get this out. "I know you have a kid, and I know you're not the easiest person to get along with, and I know you think you're way smarter than me." She tries to protest, but I cut her off. "But I don't even care, all right? Your kid is really cute, and I think it's kinda hot when you yell at me, and for all I know you _are_ smarter than me. _So there_."

She stares at me, her pale eyebrows quirked kinda sarcastic.

"So what I mean," I forge on, aware that I really just need to shut up, "is that I'm willing to try a relationship with you. And I know there'll be sucky parts, but I think we can get through those, because that's what people do to make relationships work. They compromise."

"Okay," she says.

"And another thing—wait, what? You're agreeing? Where's the big fight you were going to put up?"

"I think your ex-girlfriend sucked all the fight outta me," she says.

"Ew," I say, wincing at the thought of Nez biting Lauren.

"Figuratively," she adds. "I mean, when I saw her biting you...I thought she was gonna kill you, and I realized I would actually _care_ if you died. It almost knocked me over—well, okay, freaky serial killer dude did that part. I was trying to distract her, but he wouldn't let me get close."

For a second, I almost like Felix.

"So you care whether I live or die. That's a start," I say.

She reaches out and puts her hand over mine. "We'll see about the relationship thing," she says, and leans over to kiss me on my bruised mouth.

"Ow," I mutter. "My lip _really_ hurts. Can you not do that?"

"Okay," she says, laughing kind of evilly. "I'll kiss you somewhere else then." She starts with my jaw and moves down to my neck, and then further to my collar, where she pulls off my loosened tie and starts to undo the buttons on my nice funeral shirt.

"I forgot to mention one part of why I'm not resisting the relationship thing," she murmurs against my chest as she kisses her way down.

"Um, what would that be?" I say, my voice coming out a little strangled.

"You don't suck at the...physical part," she answers, and starts to undo my belt.

"You said you weren't going to do me...when you came in," I point out with some difficulty.

"I just said that so you'd explain stuff first." She presses a kiss to my aching lower lip, making me groan in pain, and whispers, "Don't move."

And then she starts taking off her funeral clothes.


	17. Epilogue: Nez, Jacob

**Happy Endings Are a Myth (Kind of Like Werewolves)**

_17. Epilogue according to Nez_

Other seventeen-year-olds probably think a week of being grounded sucks.

Try ten _years_.

As soon as we get back home, Mom and Dad pack up and move us to the Middle-of-Nowheresville, Alaska. We live in a little house seven miles from the nearest town. I try to run away three times the first week. Dad catches me every single time. The second week, I only try once, and Mom catches me. Then I stop trying.

They feed me on a forced diet of animal blood and human food. For the first three years, they don't let me near humans, _ever_. The only time I ever get to eat something that tastes remotely good is when Mom brings home some chocolates on Valentine's Day. Dark chocolate is the only good human food.

My hair grows out. Mom is on severe instructions from Aunt Alice never to let me near scissors or hair dye ever again. They make me cover up in sweaters and thick jackets, and burn all my Hot Topic clothes (also on Aunt Alice's instructions). I'm back to looking like their little angel.

I think about Felix all the time. That part of my brief escape doesn't fade, though the bloodlust does in time. I think about his hair, his crimson eyes, his cool lips and the desperate way he would cling to me in the dark...I go over my crystal-clear memories so often that, if they were books, they'd be dog-eared at the corners.

I sit in the barred window and watch the snow fall in the dark, and pretend I'm a princess in a tower waiting for her prince. A pagan princess, maybe, who dabbles in dark powers—definitely not the sickly sweet Disney kind. And my prince, he's a warrior, a predator. He carries the heads of his enemies on a string. He rides into battle wearing blood as body paint. _Felix, oh God, I miss you_....

Wolves howl. I bare my teeth and growl back. _Screw you, Jacob_. If it wasn't for him, Felix and I would have gotten away. We would still be together. Maybe someplace in South America, or Australia, or even Japan—I'd always had an itch to visit there....

The wolves stay away from this house. They know better than to piss off the vampires, even if they aren't really werewolves.

Ten years pass this way.

I wonder if Felix will come for me like he said he would. Maybe he won't be able to find me. Maybe he'll show up in Forks, and Granddad Carlisle will tell him that Mom and Dad and me are living in Egypt. And when he doesn't find us and comes back to ask again, Carlisle will be like, "Oh, did I say Egypt? My bad. I meant Calcutta...."

But maybe...maybe he's not even alive. Maybe the Volturi tortured him to death for deserting, and burned his severed limbs and killed him for good.

Or maybe they brainwashed him and now he's completely loyal to them.

I turn up my radio really loud and then scream into my pillow. These maybes are killing me. I want to know. I want Felix back. I _want_ him. I _love_ him—

I'm sleeping when he comes.

He slips in through the window (just like Dad says he used to do with Mom's room). He rips the bars right off without even waking me and stands by the bed, his cold fingers caressing my cheek.

That wakes me, though at first I think it's a dream. "Mmm," I murmur, as I always do in these dreams. "Felix, I love you...."

My words fall strangely loud and almost echo-y, and I realize I'm not dreaming and sit bolt upright. He's here. Bending over me, his angelic face worried...he hasn't changed a bit.

Well, there _is_ something weird about his eyes....

"Felix!" I gasp.

He holds completely still.

"You _came_," I burst out, and throw myself at him. His arms encircle me, and then I _know_ he feels the same as he did ten years ago. _I love you I love you I love you_, I say silently, sending him picture after picture of my ten years of solitude and loneliness.

"Let's go. Let's run," I say. "Quick, before Dad—"

He chuckles. "I am not going to steal you away this time, Nez Cullen. I am going to ask your father for your hand and we are going to get married...I have a little house set up in Canada for us to live."

"We aren't going to be nomads?"

"No. I am a vegetarian now, too. I have spent the last ten years resisting. I am told this is the way our kind can settle down in one place. We must domesticate ourselves first. So I do this to make you happy."

I can't speak.

"You _are_ happy?" he asks, concerned.

I crush my lips to his, letting him know just how ecstatic I am that he's here.

But somewhere deep down, I'm kinda disappointed that he's given up eating humans. The part of him that was all predatory and _rawr_ made him like three times as hot....

*******

_17.5. Epilogue according to Jacob_

If I've learned anything from my spectacularly weird life, it's that there are no happy endings. You're never gonna live happily _ever_ after. There'll always be days when your life sucks, no matter how happy you are most of the time. Your stepdaughter'll grow up and be a teenager and rebel, and she'll scream that she hates you as she slams the door to her room. Your wife'll run out of chocolate at That Time of the Month and _she'll_ scream that she hates you as she throws a box of tampons at your head. You'll get tired of them hating you and scream at them that you hate them back, as you stomp out the door to go take apart your car engine just because you can.

One day you'll look in the mirror and notice gray hairs, and realize that you're getting _old_. You'll think, _I didn't have to_, and for a minute you'll wish you were still immortal.

But there'll be times when you're happy too. You'll cheer so loudly when your stepdaughter scores a point in basketball that you're hoarse the next day. You'll grin and tell everyone within earshot, "That's my wife!" when she finally graduates from community college with a degree in fine arts. You'll go on vacations to Disneyland and the Grand Canyon, and you'll be an annoying tourist with a digital camera and a million questions.

You'll lie in bed with your wife in your arms, and you'll think, _Forever would have been boring without this woman_.

Sometimes you'll think about your old life—the two girls you once loved that couldn't love you, the ones that'll be young and pretty when you're an old man.

You'll think, _One lifetime is enough_, and hope their eternity doesn't suck too much.

Pun intended.


End file.
